


Mixed Tape: Side A

by KayleeThePete



Series: Mixed Tape [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: ARGUS, Amanda Waller coerces Felicity into working for ARGUS, F/M, Felicity was there for some of Oliver's time away, Goth Felicity, Hong Kong, Oliver and Felicity partnered up in ARGUS, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeThePete/pseuds/KayleeThePete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity ended up making a few less than clean hacks after Cooper's supposed death and ends up being coerced into working for ARGUS, and Amanda has the PERFECT partner for her...</p><p>“So…how did you end up in this indentured servitude?"<br/>“I died.”<br/>“Well, that’s  illuminating."<br/>“How did you get into Waller’s crosshairs?”<br/>"I wasn’t being careful enough while hacking the wrong system…ARGUS’ to be precise...  It was this or prison.”</p><p>Cross-posted on FF.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bones

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, I’m a horrible author who takes on FAR more projects than I should at any given time, but that’s the way the muse wind decides to blow… This new little monster, my first posted Arrow fic, was born from my dartie and I fangirling over how awesome Goth Felicity was and wondering what Oliver would think if he’d seen her like that, what it would have been like if they had met back then… So, of course, I couldn’t help myself… Thus along came this undertaking because it was too awesome for me NOT to write and right now it’s a much less traumatizing version of Arrow-verse than what they’re putting us through on the show. The title of the story comes from “Mixed Tape” by Jack’s Mannequin, and each chapter will be titled after a song. This first chapter is “Bones” by MS MR. The premise is basically Felicity didn’t handle losing Cooper quite as well as she did on the show and ended up in ARGUS’ sights. Amanda decides to not only put her skills to “good” use but to use her as more leverage to control Oliver… And thus our story begins…  
> Disclaimer: Maybe if I knew how to hack like Felicity I’d find a way to own Arrow, but yeah…that’s not going to happen… XD I do not own Arrow or any of the characters or any of the songs used or quoted in this story, they all belong to their respective owners. No profit is being made off of the production of this. I’m just having a little fun playing in the proverbial sandbox… The title of this chapter and the lyrics are from the song Bones by MS MR.  
> Dartie…what have we done?! XD  
> (My dartie’s response to this was: “Something amazing, dartie, something AMAZING. XD” And I can’t disagree. XD)

**Mixed Tape: Side A**

**Chapter 1: Bones**

_Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone  
_ _Boy with a broken soul_  
 _Heart_   _with_   _a gaping hole_  
 _Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality_  
 _Kissing_   _death_   _and losing my breath_  
  _Midnight hours_   _cobble street passages_  
  _Forgotten savages,_   _forgotten savages_

 _Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone_  
  _Let her find a way_   _to a better place_  
  _Broken dreams_   _and silent screams_  
  _Empty churches_   _with soulless curses_  
  _We found a way_   _we found a way to escape the day_

 _Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone_  
  _Lost in the pages_   _of self made cages_  
  _Life slips away and_   _the ghosts came out to play_  
  _These_ _are hard times_  
  _These are hard times for dreamers_  
  _And love lost believers_

 _Candybar creep show_  
  _My highs hit a new low_  
  _Marinate_   _in misery_  
  _Like a girl of only 17_  
  _Manmade madness_  
  _And the romance of sadness_  
 _A beautiful dance_   _that happened by chance_  
 _Happened by chance, happened by chance_  
  

_This is the biggest mistake of my life_ , Felicity Smoak inwardly groaned. Well, technically it was the second…or third…ya know, ’cause there were the mistakes that landed her in this position in the first place and all… She buried her face in her hands with an audible groan this time. She supposed that her downward spiral could be attributed to the loss of Cooper, but creating that virus in the first place…yeah, probably best to figure she just generally had poor judgment… Boy, had she screwed up.

 _“You have a choice, Ms. Smoak.” The woman who’d introduced herself as Amanda Waller smirked at the young woman who had, only moments earlier, been handed her diploma from MIT,_ summa cum laude _. “You can either go to federal prison for the rest of your life…or you can come to work for me and have those little infractions forgotten.”_

A snort escaped Felicity at the memory. Oh yeah…she had a choice… _Some frickin’ choice_.

She dragged a hand through her purple-streaked black hair, well, at least she could say she was maintaining her own individuality and sense of style even as she was now trapped by this possibly government or not-government, but definitely off-the-books, black-ops agency. She gave herself a half-hearted mental fist-pump.

Felicity’s head snapped up as the door handle rattled, alerting her that someone was coming in. Just as it opened she leapt to her feet, unsure of who or what—was that ever a cliché—might come through, but preferring to be on her feet to face them…or it.

Waller strode in, as striking as ever, looking down on Felicity with that smirk that pissed the hacker off more than she knew she could be. A movement behind the other woman drew Felicity’s attention, and her eyebrows shot up her forehead.

Well, she wasn’t sure you could get someone any more different from Waller than the person accompanying her. Not only was he male, and thus the opposite of Waller’s gender, but he had a long, shaggy blond mane that reached his shoulders with a nearly full beard, his clothes were a T-shirt and cargo pants and beat-up boots; his all-around scruffiness a stark contrast to Waller’s perfectly coifed, pressed, business-suited self. And then there was his build, tall and well-muscled, if the corded lines of his arms were anything to go by, versus Waller’s—likely deceptively—slender build. But what _really_ caught Felicity’s attention was his eyes, sharp, blue, super intense, he couldn’t be more than a couple of years older than her but those eyes…they carried the weight of seeing _far_ too much. Felicity had no qualms admitting to herself that the man was hot, beyond hot, like…light-years beyond hot… God, she hoped that her lacking brain to mouth filter didn’t let _that_ thought through…

“Congratulations,” Waller’s tone was less congratulatory and more smug, “you two are going to be working together.” She gestured between Felicity and the man at her side just inside the door.

“Is this really necessary?” the man growled through gritted teeth, those blue eyes she’d just been admiring gave her a once-over, looking unimpressed by what he saw.

“I think it is,” Waller told him, smirk possibly even wider.

“She’s a civilian, she’ll get in the way,” he bit out.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Felicity snapped, offended, “‘She’s’ right here, and I’m smarter than both of you combined, and can hack into pretty much _any_ network.” She tilted her chin up defiantly and, as best she could manage given how much taller he was than her, looked down her nose at him. “I don’t even know what you _do_.”

His gaze cut to her sharply. “I beat people and put arrows in them.”

Her eyebrows relocated to her hairline, not sure whether or not he was being serious.

“And he’s quite good at it too,” Waller put in; God, Felicity _really_ hated that smirk.

Well, that answered as to whether or not he was serious…but arrows… _really_?!

“What?” Felicity questioned sarcastically. “They run out of knives at Rambo school?”

She really should be much more scared of the glare he was giving her right then, what with her knowing that he kills people and could probably break her in half with his pinky and all, but she was just too pissed-off at his dismissive attitude. And she was definitely _not_ going to pay _any_ attention to the look that screamed “shut up” that he was giving her.

“Well, it looks like you two are making friends, I’ll just leave you to it.” Waller sashayed out the door, leaving the other two occupants of the room to watch her go.

Silence hung heavy for interminable moments.

“So,” Felicity began, waiting until the man was done glaring at the door that’d just closed behind Waller, “what’s your name?”

Piercing blue eyes snapped to her, gaze shuttered. “Archer,” he finally said after a drawn out pause.

She raised both of her eyebrows at him, head cocking to the side, conveying her disbelief.

His expression gave nothing away. “What’s yours?”

“Hacker,” she shot back snarkily.

“Listen…”

Was his voice permanently growly or something? Felicity wondered idly.

“…when we’re on an op, do as I say and stay out of the way.”

Her mouth dropped open, now _truly_ offended. “Hey,” she strode forward and poked his chest with one finger, “you should be nicer to me! And you shouldn’t underestimate me! With a few keystrokes I can ruin your life!”

His mouth twisted into a bitter facsimile of a smile. “Most of the world, including everyone that I care about, thinks I’m dead…”

Her hand fell to her side, ire fading at his biting but honest admission.

He turned on heel, starting toward the door. “Not much left to ruin,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Felicity continued to stare after Archer long after he’d disappeared through the door. Who the hell was that guy…and what the _hell_ had she gotten herself into?!

>>>\------------>

Oliver thought that he might’ve lost count of the number of times he felt the burning desire to put an arrow in Amanda Waller. He kept thinking that he couldn’t hate her more and then she’d go and prove him wrong.

_“I have a new partner for you.”_

_Oliver_ really _hated that smirk of hers. “I don’t_ need _a new partner,” he growled out between his teeth as he followed her down the hallway, shoving thoughts of and guilt over Maseo away._

 _“Maybe not another person with a similar skill set to yours but that’s not what she is. She has a very_ different _skill set. One that I think will be useful. She has a degree in computer science and engineering and is quite the accomplished little hacker.”_

_He narrowed his eyes stopping abruptly. “I don’t need another person to have to look out for on ops, and I don’t need a babysitter, if she’s supposed to—”_

_Waller stopped just ahead of him, spinning on the spot to face him. “I think you could use the help for certain aspects of your operations. And while she isn’t here completely voluntarily she is cooperating with us for her own reasons. And as for you, you know how this goes, you try to escape, try to contact any of your family or friends, or refuse to work with us…we kill her.”_

Oliver didn’t know what he was expecting “her” to be like, but the young woman, who looked maybe only a couple years older than his sister would be now—he pushed aside the sudden spike of pain at the thought of Thea—certainly wasn’t even in the realm of his imagination. She was perhaps 5 and a half feet tall, maybe less, dwarfed by his own 6’1” frame, long black hair streaked with purple spilling around her shoulders. Her face, likely already fair, was made even paler by makeup and the fluorescent bulbs overhead, causing her dark lipstick to stand out starkly, and her kohl-rimmed, bright blue eyes to really pop. The silver ring in her nose glistened, and he could make out more rings around her ears through her hair, while the cross-like symbol hanging from the cord around her neck shone against the black of her long-sleeved shirt. Her hands—most of the fingers adorned with silver rings—had smoothed down her tan cargo pants nervously, belying the fearless façade she was trying to maintain.

His first thought was that she radiated an innocence, it was perhaps battered and injured but definitely still there… With all of her dark clothing and heavy makeup she looked like a little girl trying to appear tougher than she was, their world would chew her up and spit her out. And he actually had to fight to hold onto that determination, that disdain, to that safe distance for the first time in a long time. But there was something about her, something about that innocence that was so very tempting, calling to him like a moth to flame. And then the fire leapt in her eyes, the steel that ran beneath the surface asserted itself, and she glared at him fearlessly… Oliver didn’t want to be impressed, didn’t want to feel even more drawn to her, but he was and he did, and he knew he had to crush those feelings, ignore them, do whatever he could to get rid of them, because they were dangerous. And not exclusively to him.

For all of the arguing he’d done with Waller to try to keep the girl—Hacker as she’d told him to call her—out of the field it’d done nothing. With that obnoxious smirk she’d told him to get his ass and Hacker’s out on the op, and shoved the folder in his hands.

So that was why he was now standing in this derelict building across the way, waiting for the girl to hack the security system of their target’s building.

“So…” Hacker kept her gaze on the screen but watched him out of the corner of her eye, “how did _you_ end up in this indentured servitude?”

Oliver grit his teeth, staring out the window. “I died.”

She turned her gaze on him, waiting, and when nothing else was forthcoming she rolled her eyes. “Well, _that’s_ illuminating. Tell me,” she tapped away on her laptop, “did you ever speak in sentences of more than five words or were you just born monosyllabic?”

Clutching his bow, he glared at her over his shoulder, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her at arms-length even after such a short time. The sassy, sarcastic tech Goth beside him was just somehow so…endearing. Oliver shook those thoughts off, he had to keep his distance, for both of their sakes; Waller had a gun pointed at the girl’s oblivious head and letting her close would be deadly…for them both.

But that fact, for some reason, still didn’t stop the following from leaving his mouth. “How did you get into Waller’s crosshairs?”

Her own expression shuttered. “I wasn’t being careful enough while hacking the wrong system…ARGUS’ to be precise.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, eyes still focused on the screen. “They had other dirt on me as well. It was this or prison.” Her computer beeped. “Got it!” She typed away a bit longer before snapping the lid of her laptop shut, shoving it into her backpack and swinging it across her shoulders as she stood. “We’re in.”

Oliver had to work hard to hold in his grimace at that, taking her elbow and directing her toward the door, hating the necessity that forced him to bring her—a weaponless, untrained asset—into a building that had dozens of guards armed to the teeth. “Stay close to me and don’t speak unless I tell you it’s all right,” he rapped out the orders, ignoring her glare. “We don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.”

“Fine, bossy,” Hacker huffed, but still allowed him to direct her from the room, down the hall and out of the building.

He guided her toward the building across the street by way of every shadow and object they could conceal themselves behind. She was ungainly, movements choppy—God, he hoped no one was watching from any windows, even in the dark her sharp movements would draw attention—and Oliver kept her behind him as best he could. They reached the back of the building, he scanned the ledge above them for the spot he knew…there! Drawing a very specific arrow, he nocked it and drew back, aiming with the same speed and accuracy the island had burned into his muscle memory. The grappling line gripped in his hand, Oliver tucked his bow into the holder on his back and reached out with his now-free arm for the young woman beside him.

Her kohl-lined eyes were as large as saucers as she looked up at him. “ _Please_ tell me you aren’t going to do what I _think_ you’re going to do?!”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he glared at her.

“ _Are you out of your arrowing mind_?!” she whisper-screeched.

He didn’t budge, just intensified his glare.

Hacker’s jaw set and she met his look mulishly, hands clinging to the straps of her bag.

They stood there locked in a stalemate for long moments.

“There’s no other way,” Oliver finally ground out between gritted teeth.

After another moment of stubbornly compressing her lips, finally she huffed and stepped toward him. “Fine.”

As he wrapped his arm around her waist, Oliver tried _very_ hard to ignore the feeling of her pressed against him—he hadn’t let himself think of any woman like that since his brief affair with Shado—her own encircling his neck. He noticed how she was trembling and her eyes darted around: she was scared, not of him, but of what they were about to do, and in all honesty he _was_ asking her to put a rather substantial level of trust in him, when they quite obviously didn’t have _any_ to split between them.

“I’ve done this before,” he told her gruffly, trying to reassure her somewhat. “Just hold onto me tightly.”

“You know,” she remarked in a wavering voice, eyeing the ledge above their heads, “I always imagined a super hot guy saying that to me under different circumstances.”

He turned his head to look at her, her own whipped to meet his gaze, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Purely platonic…circumstances…” she quickly added.

It took a few moments before he could break their stare, eyes focusing back on his task. “Hold on,” he mumbled once more, and he felt her arms tighten around his neck.

>>>\------------>

Felicity wished she could say that she maintained a stoic silence through the experience, but a small “eep” escaped her as they were abruptly lifted off the ground by the ascension device. To muffle any further noises she pressed her face into the joint of his neck and shoulder—and _nope_ , she most definitely _wasn’t_ going to think about how his skin felt pressed against her cheek or how good he smelled. She felt herself slide a little, but it couldn’t have been more than an inch, those muscles that she could feel under Archer’s clothes obviously weren’t just for show, the corded strength of his arm around her waist keeping her relatively immobilized against his side. Her own hands had a death-grip on his neck and she _refused_ to look down.

Archer curved his body in a way so that he could hook his feet on the wide ledge of a tall window on the top floor. “Put your feet on the ledge,” he breathed into her ear.

Felicity had to bite back the shiver that wanted to cascade down her spine, reminding herself that this was _seriously_ not the time for such inconvenient feelings and that he was only trying to stay as quiet as possible. She stretched her feet out to do as he instructed, managing to get the toes of her black high-top Converses on the surface, with some fumbling and shuffling and Archer’s own form drawing her forward she was able to get her soles on it entirely. However, even with her feet now on a flat plane she knew she wouldn’t be able to get herself fully onto the ledge with her admittedly lacking musculature.

That became a moot issue when Archer used his own strength to pull them both upright on the ledge, bracing them, her body between his and the window, in the small space.

The computer specialist was acutely aware of the fact that all that separated her from the ten-story sheer drop was a stretch of cement no wider than her feet were long, and Archer’s body. It was terrifying, but soon Felicity found that there was absolutely no give in his frame, even as she swayed against him he didn’t budge an inch, and something in her somehow immediately relaxed, trusting him not to let her fall.

Archer pulled something out of a pocket and reached around her, looking over her shoulder she could just barely make out his black-gloved hands using shiny implements on what appeared to be the lock. After a few seconds there was a click and he pushed the window open. “Get in,” he instructed, and for once she was _most_ happy to oblige his orders.

Felicity let out a sigh of relief when her feet were planted on the nice, solid, non-sheer-drop-off floor of the office. He swung himself into the room, landing on the floor with hardly a sound—damn, ninja skills, she inwardly grumbled—and lowered the window just enough that it appeared closed to a quick scan, but made sure it was just shy of closing—man, Felicity wasn’t looking forward to the eventuality of using that as their escape-route.

“Let’s go,” she quickly said before he could—yes, it was petty, but she’d take her kicks where she could get them.

He held her back from the door, forcing her behind him, much to her annoyance. Archer met her glare with one of his own, mouthing “wait” before inching carefully up to the door, he turned the handle with such care and eased it open slowly, smoothly, keeping them both pressed against the wall as he scanned the hallway outside. Felicity mentally huffed, but reluctantly admitted to herself that he was the better of the two of them to lead since he knew how to sneak around and be all tactical. Finally Archer drew her out of the room with him, closing the door soundlessly behind them before leading the way down the hall to their destination, a room cut-off from the network but still drawing an obscene amount of power.

They reached the door they were looking for, the keypad lock for the door the only security measure in the building still actually working, since she’d shut down the rest of the system—though the building security thought that it was still operational since she’d made sure it would _look_ like it was, however this particular measure was on a system all its own. Felicity bent over by the pad and went to work. Archer stood behind her, his back to hers keeping a look-out while she was preoccupied with hacking the lock. Carefully opening the pad she studied the wiring and circuitry, finally taking a couple of cords from her backpack along with her precious laptop—it was a _very_ nice computer they’d handed to her before Waller sent them out on the op (look at her getting all tactical with her lingo) and she was going to call him K-9 if they let her hang onto him—and connected her computer to the pad.

“How long?” Archer’s voice was barely even audible to her.

“Three minutes,” she whispered back, fingers flying over the keys on her computer, “tops.”

>>>\------------>

Tension had Oliver’s body strung tighter than his bowstring. They were too exposed. It was a long, straight hallway, stretching out on both sides of them, with no cover and no external windows…no escape. His ears pricked to a soft sound.

Getting closer.

“Hacker…” he growled out the warning under his breath, glancing back at her as he drew an arrow.

Her own eyes had flicked in the direction of the approaching noise, worry visible, though her fingers never paused. “Patience is a virtue…” she told him in a soft, sing-song voice.

Nocking the arrow and drawing it back, he grit his teeth. “Not right now it isn’t.”

A choked sound escaped her before she stifled it and then her breath caught at a soft beep. “We’re in.”

Oliver kept the arrow aimed in the direction of the approaching enemy, behind him Hacker closed her laptop and pulled the cord from the pad, slapping it closed, before pushing the door open. He backed into the room behind her and carefully closed the door, gripping her arm, not letting her move for a few moments while he listened.

The footsteps grew closer and closer…and passed the door without pausing. Oliver released a relieved breath, finally letting go of Hacker’s arm and replacing the arrow in his quiver.

She made a show of glaring at him and rubbing her arm—unnecessarily, he _knew_ he hadn’t gripped it hard enough to hurt—before heading over to a terminal on a desk in the middle of the room full of…computer stuff… Yeah, Oliver had no illusions about the limits on his technological know-how, and there certainly had been very little use for it on the island so he was _far_ behind current technology.

Hacker immediately went to work, typing away before pulling from her bag what she’d informed him, in an exceedingly patronizing voice, was an external hard drive and plugging it in. “This should only take a couple of minutes,” she murmured, anticipating his question.

Still gripping his bow, he kept his gaze on the door. This room wasn’t as exposed as the hall with the towering shelves to hide behind, but the walls were impervious to his explosive arrows, leaving them no other way out, if guards got in here it’d be shooting fish in a barrel.

“Ok,” Hacker finally said, “that’s all saved, now to erase all evidence we were ever here…”

Oliver was growing antsier with every second that passed with them still in this building.

“Done!” She pumped a fist in the air—he really shouldn’t find that as adorable as he did.

Barely giving her enough time to shove the cords, hard drive and laptop into her backpack, Oliver grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the door, cracking it the barest amount.

After several moments of listening closely for any noise, he fully opened the door as slowly and quietly as possible. With the same caution he’d used the entire night, Oliver led Hacker through the door and out into the hall. With quiet footsteps—hers a little less so, but then that wasn’t exactly her fault, he admitted to himself, since she’d never learned how to move as quietly as Oliver had been forced to—they moved as quickly as possible back to the room with their escape route.

There was the loud clicking of a gun cocking from behind them and shouts in Mandarin.

Oliver yanked Hacker to the ground with him and, as he spun to face the threat, dragged her behind him, the bullets from the guards’ weapons whizzing by above their heads. Oliver could already see them adjusting their aim, but the island had taught him to be faster. The first arrow was embedded in the nearest guard before their next round of gunfire had gotten even half a foot closer to Oliver and Hacker, with two more following in rapid succession dropping two others. This made the other guards, further away down the hall, more cautious and they ducked into rooms. The time it took them to open the doors and get in, bought the pair enough time for Hacker to open the nearest door with outside access and for them to duck inside. They locked the door before running over to the windows; this wasn’t the same room as earlier, Oliver opened the window and stuck his head outside to glance in the direction of where his rig should be. It was one window over. He pulled his head back in and turned to Hacker who was white knuckling the straps of her backpack. “You’re going to hate this.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “More than how we got in?”

“We’re going to have to climb from this window to the one next door.”

Oliver was fairly certain she paled more than under the fluorescents before and her eyes flew wider. “Are you—” The sound of pounding on the door followed by bullets being shot at it cut her off and had her surging toward Oliver. “Let’s go!”

He boosted her through the window first, making sure she was steady enough before following her out. They shuffled as quickly as was safely possible along the ledges, Oliver trying to keep an arm across her back to help steady her. When they came to the gap between the window they were on and the one next door, she froze.

“Hacker, don’t look down!”

“Too late!”

He cursed fluently.

Just then Oliver could hear the guards bursting through the door in the other room. No time. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, her own arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. “Hold on tight.” He lunged the remaining distance, grabbing the grappling line as he did so, his feet barely had time to touch the other ledge before he pushed them off.

The terrified scream that escaped Hacker was muffled in his shoulder and blown away in the rush of air as they rapidly descended. The moment their feet touched the road, Oliver was already running, dragging Hacker with him, all the while shielding her as best he could from the bullets and ricochets.

“Keep going,” he shouted in her ear once she’d found her feet and didn’t need him practically carrying her.

She was doing a fair job of keeping up, but he could tell she was flagging. They needed an out _now_.

As if conjured by his thoughts, a dark SUV screeched to a halt in front of them then the door flung open and an agent he recognized shouted, “Get in!”

The pair dove into the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind them while they slumped into their seats, panting, as the driver took off, tires squealing.

“So,” Hacker began conversationally between heaving breaths, “is it…always…like this?”

Oliver just about had his breathing back under control. “Pretty much.”

“ _Fantastic_.”


	2. Life for Rent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waller loved screwing with them, Felicity decided. Because there was just no other explanation for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank everyone for the overwhelming response to this fic so far! :-D I’m loving it and am having so much fun with planning things to come! So you probably noticed the slight change in the title, I decided that since this is going to be a rather long story I’m going to break it up into parts and put them all together in a series under the title “Mixed Tape” so that’s why this one is “Mixed Tape: Side A”. So, with all of the pain that Arrow the show is putting us through right now, and most specifically with the Olicity ship, I have been retreating quite a bit into the Mixed Tape universe and spending time in the alternate Arrow holidays universe with my dartie. XD For those who also read my Once Upon a Time stories, don’t worry I AM continuing BOTH of those and the next chapter of Once Upon a Time…and Again is in the process of being written! :-D
> 
> Dartie…what would I do without you? XD *BIG hugs* Thank you for being my friend, the best beta, partner in crime, and dartie!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own Arrow season 1 Blu-ray set, and am saving for season 2…that’s about all I own. XD This chapter is titled after “Life for Rent” by Dido.

**Mixed Tape: Side A**

**Chapter 2: Life for Rent**

_I haven’t really found a place that I call home_  
 _Never_   _stick_   _around_   _quite_   _long_   _enough to make it_  
  _I apologize_   _that once again_   _I'm not in love_  
  _But it's not as if_   _I mind that_   _your heart ain't_   _exactly_   _breaking_  
  _It's just a thought,_   _only a thought_

_But if my life is for rent and I don’t learn to buy_  
  _Well I deserve nothing more than I get_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine_

_I’ve always thought that I would love to live by the sea_  
  _To travel the world alone_   _and live more simply_  
  _I have no idea what's happened to that dream  
_ _'Cause there's nothing left here to stop me_  
  _It's just a thought, only a thought_

_But if my life is for rent and I don’t learn to buy_  
  _Well I deserve nothing more than I get_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine_

_While my heart is a shield and I won’t let it down_  
  _While I'm so afraid to fail so I won't even try_  
  _Well how and I say I'm alive_

_But if my life is for rent and I don’t learn to buy_  
  _Well I deserve nothing more than I get_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine_

 

Waller loved screwing with them, Felicity decided. Because there was just no other explanation for _this_.

Stepping into the shitty little apartment—if it could really be _called_ an apartment—behind Archer, she scanned the space, taking in the grungy walls, linoleum floors that were probably from the sixties, and sparse lighting coming from a flickering overhead bulb in the main space and what was filtering through the grimy windows behind the sagging couch. To her left, through a flimsy curtain, Felicity could make out an itty-bitty bathroom; she wondered how the hell they’d even managed to fit the shower, sink and toilet into it. A glance to her right revealed the kitchen area with a short counter, micro-fridge, convection oven, single burner, barely-there sink and single cabinet—no coffeemaker, Waller was _truly_ cruel—she eyed the appliances, which looked older than she was, more likely to be fire hazards than any actual use.

The thud of Archer dropping his bag on the ground startled her out of her mental inventory.

“You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

This had Felicity’s head whipping around to take in the rest of the room. There was a rather old-looking, twin-sized mattress—she was definitely _not_ going to think about how many people had slept on it or what might’ve been _done_ on it; oh _God_ , she couldn’t think about _that_ with a really hot man standing only feet from her and a bed in a room she now knew they’d be sharing—sitting on a small platform off to the side, and other than the bathroom—a term she used _very_ loosely—there were no actual doors or other physical dividers in the space. Waller had placed two people who hardly knew each other and were _barely_ even getting along together in a crappy studio apartment with one shitty twin-sized bed and a couch that Felicity wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. Amanda Waller had officially reached a new level on Felicity’s shit-list.

A quick comparison of the length of the couch to his height had her shaking her head. “No, you can’t. You’re too tall!” In truth the man was also too tall for the twin—what was he, part giant?!—but at least it wouldn’t be as great of a discrepancy or as uncomfortable.

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not! I can take the couch, I’m smaller and will be less un—”

“Hacker!” he cut in, not unkindly.

Her mouth snapped shut.

His eyes were locked on hers as he assured her, “I’ll be just fine. I’ve slept on worse.”

After a few moments of debating fighting him on this as she watched him arrange his bag and weapons around the couch as he wanted them, Felicity finally let out a huff and turned to the bed. She carelessly dumped her sports bag full of clothes on the ground, placing her backpack with her electronics much more gently on the mattress.

The hacker spun on the spot, eyeing the space distastefully before moving over to the only cabinet in the kitchen and opening it. Three mismatched plastic glasses, a tea cup, a coffee mug from a diner called “Murry’s”, one plain plastic plate and another with cartoon dinosaurs on it, a ceramic bowl, and a package of disposable cutlery that appeared to be missing most of its spoons were all she found. The micro fridge held a single jar of moldy mayonnaise, and the appliance had been left sitting unplugged for who knew how long and smelled rancid. A search of the minute medicine cabinet in the bathroom revealed one used toothbrush and a bar of soap with a pubic hair on it. Felicity slammed it shut, uncaring if she broke the distorted mirror on the front—she didn’t—and stormed into the main space.

Planting her hands on her hips, she disgustedly announced to her new roommate, “We have _nothing_ , here!”

Archer straightened up, turning to face her.

“No food,” she began ticking off on her fingers, “no shampoo, no conditioner, no toothbrushes, no toothpaste, no cleaning supplies—which we _need_ , this place is _disgusting_ — _nothing_!” Felicity waved her arms around in a violently sweeping gesture. “And Waller expects us to make this place _habitable_ on the moronically meager stipend that she’s given us?! It won’t even _begin_ to cover the necessities!”

She hadn’t really noticed Archer crossing the room until his hand was on her shoulder and he was calling firmly, “Hacker!”

This again proved effective in cutting off her rambling rant.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his share of the money they’d been given and pressed it into her palm. “Get us food and anything else you think is necessary. As far as mops and buckets and rags, let me worry about those.”

“How the heck are you going to buy those things without any money?!”

“I know someone.” He strode back over to his belongings, pocketing a few items that she couldn’t see before heading to the door.

“Who? The black market Martha Stewart?”

He ignored that comment, instead saying, “There’s a shop two blocks south and one block east. They should have everything you need.” The door shut behind him with a muted click.

“Bye,” Felicity snarkily replied to the closed door.

>>>\------------>

Two hours later Felicity was trudging back up the steps to the rat-hole that Waller had the gall to call an apartment. First thing she’d done was find the cheapest coffeemaker she could and made it her “splurge” buy, along with the best coffee she could afford on the menial budget they were on; the stuff from hospitals would probably taste like ambrosia compared to this crap, but it’d suffice until their next “payday” when she should be able to afford better. The food she bought ended up having to be pretty cheap and low-quality because of the coffeemaker and cleaning and hygiene supplies, but, again, it would suffice until Waller gave them their next allotment.

As Felicity opened the door to their apartment, her nose wrinkled at the pungent odors drifting up from the noodle shop that was below their place. Well that was going to be _super_ pleasant always having that wafting up to them. Inside she found Archer had returned from wherever the hell he’d been with the promised buckets, mop, broom and dustpan, plus rags and sponges. Her eyebrows shot up. “Where the hell did you go? Cleaning-Supplies-‘R-Us?”

He gave her a look. “I told you, I know someone.”

She dropped her bags of booty—oh, hell, did she _really_ just think that?! Don’t think of his ass, don’t think of his ass—onto the floor, and planted her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow at him. “And you somehow manage to make procuring cleaning supplies sound like some shady back alley deal. Is there, like, some black-market on Swiffer items?”

As he dropped his head, Felicity caught sight of his lips twitching in a way that _may_ have been him fighting a smile… Holy cripes! Her jaw dropped. “Was that a smile? Does the big bad archer actually know how to _smile_?!” She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide at that slipping out. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I mean seriously, it was rude and I don’t want to piss you off or something because that could make things even more difficult what with us living together—I mean, not _living together_ living together, you know just…living together. Cohabitating. Two people, two adults, who happen to be of opposite sexes, sharing a common living space—and good _God_ , stop me now…3…2…1…”

Thankfully he didn’t look offended, more bemused…and was that possibly a flicker of amusement? “Someone I know was willing to lend us the supplies, all they asked was that we replace what mop heads, rags and sponges we use before returning them.”

Felicity nodded her head vigorously. “Right. ‘Course. Totally will do that, it being the polite thing and all…” Rubbing her hands nervously up and down her thighs, she glanced at the bags behind her. “How about we divide and conquer, you can start in the kitchen—thankfully we don’t have any perishables yet, but we’ll need to get that fridge clean and running stat—and I’ll decon the bathroom.”

“All right,” he agreed quietly.

With a decisive nod, Felicity pushed up the sleeves of her shirt and then started pulling her long black and purple hair back into a high messy bun.

“Hacker?”

She turned back at Archer’s questioning tone.

“What’s a…Swiffer?”

Her eyes bugged out and her arms dropped from her half-finished bun. “You don’t know what a Swiffer is?! What planet have you been on?!”

He lifted one shoulder, looking away. “It was an island, actually.”

Felicity studied him for a moment. “When you say ‘island’, I take it you don’t mean Tahiti, do you?” She kept her voice as light and casual as possible.

Archer finally focused on at her, a wry curve to his lips and a guarded amusement in his eyes. “Not exactly.”

She took in his body language and scanned back through her memories of him so far, cataloging it all before nodding and giving him a warm smile. “Well, we’ll have to start rectifying any lacking aspects of your pop-culture education once we get this place actually habitable.”

He slowly nodded, posture still guarded but quiet delight and relief definitely in his eyes. “Sure.”

Felicity flashed him a bright grin before turning back to do battle with that toxic waste dump of a bathroom. It was a promising start for things with Archer.

>>>\------------>

Oliver decided that his new roommate was quite the enigma, and under some circumstances a bit of a contradiction.

While his head was stuck inside the disgusting-smelling fridge—how did a fridge even get to smell like that?! What did they keep in there, a dead body?! Oliver paused a moment, realizing that with Waller that was entirely possible—a piercing shriek rang out, nearly making him crack his head on the top of the fridge in his rush to locate the threat. He was on his feet and at the door to the bathroom in seconds…only to find Hacker standing on the lid of the toilet, still screaming and pointing at the shower saying over and over, “Get rid of it! Get rid of it!”

A rat sat in the corner of the narrow stall eying her, unimpressed. Oliver sighed, his rapidly beating heart beginning to slow as he pulled out a knife and moved toward the rodent.

Suddenly her cries changed. “Don’t _kill_ it!” Hacker protested, eyes wide with horror. “It’s not _his_ fault—or her fault, I suppose it could be. I wonder how you tell…?”

Oliver quirked an incredulous eyebrow at her. How the hell did this girl keep surprising him? And how did her desire to not harm the animal, even though she was obviously deathly afraid of it, make her even more endearing to him? Perhaps it was the flash of memory he had of the first time he was forced to kill a living thing, the bird on the island, so _very_ long ago…

With a sigh he told her to hold on a moment, slipping the knife back into his boot before heading over to his belongings. He returned, pulling on thick leather gloves before moving over to the unperturbed rat and picking him up by the scruff of the neck, which finally _did_ perturb the animal; it began to writhe and emit high-pitched squealing noises as he walked over to the door, down the stairs, and released the animal into the alley next to their building. Hacker gave him a brilliant smile upon his return with a happy, “Thanks!”

Oliver tried to ignore dormant emotions her reaction to something so mundane stirred in him.

Three hours later Hacker finally exited the bathroom, declaring it properly cleaned, turning her attention next to the main space with a resigned sigh and then refilling the bucket with fresh water—what’d been left from cleaning the bathroom had gone down the drain in a brown/black swirl—and bleach before she started scrubbing every vertical surface in the space, opening the windows along the way to let some—relatively—fresh air in.

Oliver was still working on the kitchen space since every time he’d thought he was done, she’d pointed out something he’d missed. Once she’d finally declared the actual space clean he moved on to the dishes—“Who the hell _knows_ the last time anyone actually cleaned them,” she’d pointed out, her nose wrinkling adorably. When he’d was finished with that, she shoved a rag and bottle of Windex into his hands and told him to get the windows clean enough that they could actually _see_ through them, while she set about mopping the floor. Oliver learned more in that day about cleaning than he had in the entire prior 24 years of his life. Raisa would be proud. He pushed that thought away, the pain at the reminder of his loved ones back in Starling too acute.

Oliver found himself not only cleaning the inside of the windows but also climbing outside onto the fire escape and scrubbing away the thick layer of dirt and grime on the outside—apparently Hacker liked her sunlight. He still didn’t understand why he was willing to do all of this, he would’ve been satisfied with a pretty basic cleaning rather than this decontamination. Eventually he was able to look through the glass panes and actually watch her as she continued to mop the floor, long, dark ponytail—her bun having fallen out hours earlier—swaying across her back and over her shoulders with the rhythmic movements. Pushing away the feelings that image roused in him, Oliver knocked two knuckles on one pane, getting her attention, and gesturing to the now-clean windows. No, no, his heart _didn’t_ skip a beat at the way her face lit up at the crystal-clear glass.

Leaning the mop against the wall, Hacker moved over to the windows, hands on her hips, eyeing the panes approvingly. “ _Much_ better!” She turned on the spot, taking in the rest of the space in the now much brighter light. “I think this place might actually be passably habitable now.” She turned her blinding grin on his once more.

Oliver thought that her praise probably shouldn’t make him feel as good as it did, nor should he find her bright smile so warming, or the streak of dust along the side of her nose so _very_ adorable.

“I think we can call it a day,” she decreed, turning back to take care of the mop and bucket.

As Oliver stepped through the window, he readily admitted to himself that the apartment smelled _far_ better than it had before and didn’t look nearly as dingy. Along with all of the scrubbing they’d done, Hacker had saturated both the mattress and the couch with Lysol, letting them dry out by the windows.

Returning to the main room from dumping out the mop water, Hacker strode over to the kitchen. “We don’t have much in the way of variety of food for this week, but I can get some of those 10-minute noodles going and that should satisfy us.”

Oliver half wanted to tell her not to bother on his part, he wasn’t really hungry, but an echo of Raisa’s voice at the back of his mind reminding him that it was rude to reject food stopped him, and instead he nodded.

It took 12 rather than the promised 10 minutes to cook the noodles, but soon Hacker handed him one cup and claimed the other for herself. She scanned the room, frowning. “It’s really inconvenient, not having any chairs or a table. I never really thought about how important they are until now when we have…nothing. You’d think Waller’d give us at least a couple of chairs or stools or something. And we can’t really sit on the bed—my bed—because of the sleeping and _sleeping_ connotations,” her eyes went wide, “not that _you_ think of me that way or that I think of you that way—not that I _couldn’t_ think of you that way because you’re…oh, God…3, 2, 1…” She took a deep breath and got back on a, hopefully, safer track. “And we can’t sit on the couch because, aside from it being basically your bed…and I will stop that right there…” she cleared her throat, “but it’s weird to sit on a couch with nothing to look at like…not TV or anything… And of course,” she blushed, “they’re probably still a little damp from the Lysol.”

The archer wondered if it was possible to be any more surprised by a person in one day. “We can sit out on the fire escape,” he quietly interjected.

“Right! Good idea!” Hacker quickly agreed, scurrying over to the window.

Oliver had to catch her elbow to keep her from stumbling as she climbed through, finding her blush and mumbled “thank you” far too endearing for either of their own good. He clench his jaw, tilting his head away from the tantalizing scent that drifted from her, chalking his reaction—all of the various reactions he’d had to her ever since they’d met—to not being with a woman in a year.

She took a seat on one of the steps going up, cup in her lap; Oliver sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up a bit, wanting to have every possible approach an enemy could take in sight.

“Are you always wound so tight?”

His head whipped around to her questioning expression. “What?”

Hacker fiddled with her fork. “I mean, you’re always so… _aware_ , and wound like a spring that’ll go off at the slightest provocation.”

Oliver’s grip tightened on his spoon, not angry at her but the memories…

“You don’t have to tell me!” she quickly said. “I mean if it’s too personal or something, I was just wondering since you always seem on edge.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, contemplating the noodles in his cup.

Hacker was quiet aside from the occasional slurp of a noodle.

“The island,” out of the corner of his eye he could see her head snap up as he spoke, “the one that I was on…things happened and…I don’t know how to…stop being aware.”

“Oh.” It was a quiet, almost breathy sound, but rang with acceptance, and offering him a small smile she went back to her noodles, taking that little bit of himself he gave her without even the slightest hint of disappointment or desire for more.

Oliver was surprised by how good that felt.

>>>\------------>

At first Felicity wasn’t sure what had awoken her, lying on the lumpy twin mattress, staring up at the ceiling, confusion furrowing her brow. She had no idea of the time, but by the lack of noise from the street, and the fact that the smells from the noodle shop below had diminished, she guessed that it was well past any hour that rational people would be awake.

A muffled groan had her sitting up and head whipping around.

The only light coming into the room was the rhythmic flashing from the neon signs on the adult shop across the street. They sent the shadows into a macabre dance, casting the room in an equally eerie, alternating light. The storm that had rolled in sometime since she fell asleep did nothing to ease the feeling of being in a horror film.

A flash of red illuminating movement on the floor drew her attention.

A huddled figure was tossing and turning on the floor in front of the couch.

No, not _a_ huddled figure… _Archer’s_ huddled figure. And from the thrashing of his head and limbs he was in the grips of one hell of a nightmare.

After but a moment’s hesitation, Felicity tossed back her covers and rose to her feet, slowly making her way over to Archer. She flinched as some rain was blown through the window, spraying her skin with its chill; she’d need to close it after she made sure that Archer was all right.

Crouching down beside him—still not sure why he was on the floor and not on the couch, though it was wholly possibly that it was more comfortable than the piece of furniture—Felicity began to reach out, but then retracted her hand, biting her lip. She noticed how Archer tended to shy away from physical contact, reticent to allow any, especially that which he didn’t initiate himself.

“Archer,” she called softly.

No response other than his agitation growing.

“Archer, wake up,” Felicity said a bit louder.

Still nothing.

The hacker chewed on her lip before finally, hesitantly, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder saying his name again. “Archer—”

She was cut off as she was abruptly grabbed and flipped onto her back, a hand at her throat with Archer’s larger, muscular form looming over her, face cast deeply in shadows.

Somehow through the spike of terror, certain facts registered that had calm falling over her. The first being that he didn’t realize it was her, he might technically be awake but he was obviously still caught in the grips of whatever hell his mind had locked him in. Second, his hand, while firm, possibly to the point of bruising, around her throat wasn’t squeezing so tight as to make it difficult to breathe.

Swallowing, Felicity slowly lifted her hands to gently lay them atop his wrists at her neck and shoulder, softly calling, “Archer, it’s me…Hacker…”

His harsh breathing paused.

Her thumbs rubbed soothing circles over his pulse points. “You were having a nightmare.” Though inwardly she wondered if it wasn’t more likely his worst memories of whatever had happened to him on that island were haunting his sleeping mind.

Archer was frozen above her for a few heartbeats before all of a sudden he was gone.

Felicity turned her head to find him pressed against a wall where he’d thrown himself away from her, eyes wide with horror.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, guilt and self-disgust thick in his tone.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, but remained where she was, knowing that approaching him right then would be a bad idea. “It’s all right. I should’ve been more careful, you were obviously having a really bad dream.”

His jaw set as Archer shook his head. “No, it’s not ok, and it’s not your fault.” He shot to his feet, striding over to his jacket and shoving his feet directly into his boots, having never bothered to remove his cargo pants and T-shirt. He snatched up his jacket and stormed over to the door.

“Archer!” Felicity called after him ineffectually.

The door slammed shut behind him.

She dropped her head with a resigned sigh. Nothing could be simple, could it?

 

 

_If my life is for rent and I don’t learn to buy  
_ _Well I deserve nothing more than I get_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine_

_‘Cause nothing I have is truly mine_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine_  
  _'Cause nothing I have is truly mine..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! The next chapter of Mixed Tape! :-D Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!


	3. Far From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had only been over a month and a half since Oliver had met Hacker, and he still didn’t know her real name, and he still hadn’t told her his, but…he felt closer to her than he had any person in years, ever if he were to be honest with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took so long, real life has been…interesting. Not long after the last chapter I found out where I was transferring to this summer and since then things have been kinda crazy. XD I’m moving literally across the country this week, leaving the west coast and going to the east coast. When I moved to Washington state four years ago I had this feeling that my next transfer would be to the east coast and my premonition turned out to be correct. XD I’m sitting here right now writing up this AN watching the movers packing up my stuff. Also I have been tossing around some ideas in my head and TRYING to get the next chapter of Once Upon a Time…and Again completed, it hasn’t been cooperative. Anywho.  
> Thank you SO much everyone for your comments, kudos and faves! :-D I am loving this story and have so much planned! I hope that this chapter is good, I have most of the next one already written, it was one of the first things that came to me when I first thought of this story.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from Far From Home by Five Finger Death Punch.
> 
> Dartie, you are the BEST! XD I can’t thank you enough for all of the edits you did on this chapter and your comments and pushing me where I needed to be! And thank you for the other fun stuff we’ve been doing. ;-) And thank you SO much for holding my hand at certain points this season and talking me down a couple of times.

**Mixed Tape: Side A**

**Chapter 3: Far From Home**

 

_Another day in this carnival of souls_  
_Another night settles in as quickly as it goes_  
_The memories of shadows, ink on the page  
_ _And I can’t seem to find my way home_

_And it’s almost like_  
_Your heaven’s trying everything_  
_Your heaven’s trying everything  
_ _To keep me out_

_All the places I’ve been and things I’ve seen_  
_A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams_  
_The faces of people I’ll never see again  
_ _And I can’t seem to find a way home_

_Cause it’s almost like  
_ _Your heaven’s trying everything to break me down_   
_Cause it’s almost like  
_ _Your heaven’s trying everything to keep me out_

 

The next morning Oliver had returned to find Hacker already up and making coffee. She’d offered him a tentative smile that he almost returned until his eyes had caught the bruises on her neck that her makeup didn’t fully hide. He bolted out the door and didn’t return until after he was sure she’d gone to sleep. It wasn’t until after their next op, a week later, that Oliver was actually able to look directly at Hacker, and that was only because she’d gotten in his face about it.

_He entered their apartment shortly before sunrise; Hacker should still be asleep, not to wake until nearly noon with how late they returned from the op. Oliver could get a shower, change clothes and slip right back out before she awoke._

_“What the frackin’ nine hells, Archer?!”_

_The furious voice had him freezing like a deer in headlights, wide eyes whipping around to see Hacker, very much awake with fists planted on her hips, anger vibrating in every line of her form, and her normally warm, sparkling blue eyes flashing fury as they glared at him._

_“Nine hells?” he automatically asked, brow scrunching._

_She ignored the question. “This can_ not _continue!” Hacker snapped. “You can’t keep avoiding me!”_

_“I’m just trying to protect you!” Oliver protested._

_“From_ what _?!” Exasperation was thick in her tone._

_“From_ me _!” he snapped back._

_“Why in the name of all that is good and holy would I need to be protected from you?!” Her expression was truly befuddled now._

_“_ I hurt you _!” Oliver shouted, gesturing sharply to her neck._

_“Oh, for the love of— You…you…” The goth gave a sound of absolute frustration. She stepped right up to him, getting in his face, completely unafraid, and then_ _proceeded to ream him up one side and down the other for acting the way he was, not breaking in her tirade even once long enough for him to get a_ word _in, and called him every kind of idiot she knew, including a few that he wasn’t sure were even real words._

_This tiny, dark-haired, blue-eyed, goth hacker who couldn’t throw a punch to save her life, was standing before Oliver, scolding him for being “an idiotically overprotective, moronically stubborn,_ MAN, _” a direct quote. She didn’t even reach his shoulder in her black Chucks, he could easily bench press her, and yet he was the one backing away from her temper and feeling guilty for his actions._

_“I’m sorry…” His eyes were on his feet._

_“And are you gonna do it again?” she demanded, tiny, adorable—how did he find her little fists adorable?—still planted on her hips._

_Oliver lifted his gaze to meet her stubborn one. “No.”_

_“Good.” Hacker nodded firmly._

And then she’d tugged him to the couch and introduced him to Dante’s _Divine Comedy_.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when his father’s notebook fell out of his jacket pocket as he picked it up and Laurel’s picture slipped from between the pages that Oliver realized he hadn’t thought of the woman he’d left behind in Starling in weeks…since he was introduced to Hacker. He refused to read too closely into this, telling himself it was simply because she was a needed his attention more immediately and things had been so busy that he’d just been too distracted to think about Laurel…

And Waller _had_ been keeping the pair of them _very_ busy, sending them out on ops two to three times a week now. He and Hacker hardly had time to even _think_ about their living situation, which would’ve been awkward had they had the time to contemplate it. As it was they’d unconsciously fallen into something of a routine when they actually _were_ in their shabby apartment: Oliver was always the first to wake up; he’d go free running around the still-silent and sleeping neighborhood, and then he’d return home just as the sun was rising for a shower. After that he’d start up the coffee, the smell of the percolating beverage would prompt Hacker to wakefulness, sending her to the shower with a mumbled, unnecessary, request for a cup once she was out. The moment she stepped from the steamy, tiny bathroom fully dressed, Oliver was there waiting, coffee in hand for her which she immediately accepted and gulped down. From there their days varied a bit more, depending on whether or not Waller needed them for something, be it one or both going to one of the A.R.G.U.S. holdings for Hacker to ply her trade or if he was needed for…his particular skillset, or for a briefing, or prepping for an op. On the days they weren’t needed things tended to be quieter, but… _better._

Some days it was simply doing chores around the apartment, keeping it up to the standards that Hacker deemed necessary (another thing Oliver didn’t examine too closely was his unquestioning, uncomplaining willingness to do all of this cleaning and upkeep that she wanted); some days they went shopping (although they didn’t always shop, Hacker seemed to enjoy occasionally just wandering around one of the open-air markets); and on a few _very_ rare occasions she’d managed to convince him to just explore the city with her, her enthusiasm for a strange and exotic place contagious. For so long Hong Kong had been a prison to Oliver and he hadn’t been able to see anything beyond that, but even though Hacker was just as much of an inmate as he was she was able to ignore that for a time and just enjoy the experience of being in another country. Some days they also spent with language lessons; the moment Hacker had found out that he actually knew Mandarin she’d insisted he teach her—he could only imagine that the shock of his family and friends back in Starling if they found out he was teaching another person something that didn’t involve sex, alcohol, and general debauchery would be equal to his own when he first started teaching her—and while her pronunciation wasn’t all that good she was an eager and quick student.

It had only been over a month and a half since Oliver had met Hacker, and he _still_ didn’t know her _real_ name, and he still hadn’t told her his, but…he felt closer to her than he had any person in _years_ , _ever_ if he were to be honest with himself. The feisty, hacker goth just slipped right through all the sky-high defenses that the hell he’d lived the last few years had erected. And the thing was…she didn’t even have to _try_ , she did it simply by just…being her. And Oliver was also trying not to examine this too closely…he had no clue what to do or think about it, so what was the point _of_ thinking about it? Especially when deep down, in the most guarded part of himself where the shreds of his soul and humanity still resided, he didn’t _want_ to stop her.

What Oliver did know was that Hacker had turned their drab, barely-habitable apartment into a much brighter and warmer living space. With their next allotment she’d bought them both better linens, warmer blankets (he’d awoken from a nightmare to find himself wrapped in his own on the floor on several occasions, times when he _knew_ that he’d left it on the couch.) She would go out of her way to find fresh fruits for him; as well as fish and fowl, knowing those were the meats his body preferred; she was careful when she was the one cooking about how she seasoned things, using spices sparingly (even though she obviously favored very flavorful food), though she slowly introduced more. She kept soy milk in the fridge, even though she hated it and only drank ½% milk (not 1%, not 2%, not skim. ½% milk) because that’s what his body accepted the best.

It should be strange, having a person know such intimate details about him, and knowing equally as much about her—Hacker mainlined coffee like no one he’d ever met; you did not talk to her in the morning until she’d had two cups and she desperately missed a good latte; she waxed poetic about Linux (he had no idea what this was) vs. Windows vs. OS X (Mac), those he’d heard of; and then made pop culture references that went completely over his head and rattled on about a British show with a time traveling alien called “The Doctor” (Oliver had asked “Doctor who?” and she’d said, “Exactly!”) in a blue phone box (“But I though phone booths were red in England…” “They are, this is a _police_ phone box!” “…What?”)—but it didn’t feel odd to Oliver, it felt… _right_.

Then one day, when Oliver _knew_ they shouldn’t have an op, they were called into the A.R.G.U.S. facility they usually went to finding Waller standing there waiting for them both with her patent smirk.

“Amanda,” Oliver liked to call her by her first name, knowing that it annoyed her, a small rebellion he allowed himself, “what do you want?”

Her eyes went to the goth beside him. “Your mother.”

Hacker’s eyes went wide.

Waller continued, “I told you that you could maintain some contact with her. This shall be your first scheduled check-in.”

The petite computer specialist frowned. “My mother works kinda odd hours—”

“We know she’s home right now,” Waller quickly cut in.

Ice settled in Oliver’s gut, and Waller seemed to notice the slightest stiffening of his form as he saw her smirk widen.

“We’ll call you in when we’re ready for you,” she directed to Hacker before opening the door behind her, striding in, and slamming it shut again.

“Okay, what was _that_?”

Oliver turned at Hacker’s annoyance-tinged voice to see her facing him with crossed arms and an expression matching her tone.

“They’re letting me talk to my mom, so why are you suddenly making your patented ‘ruh roh, Raggy’ face?”

Grimacing, he shifted his gaze just over her head, rubbing his fingers together unconsciously.

“Archer.” Hacker cocked an eyebrow at him, and he knew that she was calling him on the stall tactic.

He took a deep breath. “It’s more than that, Hacker.”

She gestured for him to continue.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “They not only know when your mother is working but…they know when she’s available to take a call…” Oliver watched her, waiting for that implication to sink in.

And it did.

After a beat, suddenly what little color her pale face had drained away, her arms falling limp at her sides. “They’re watching her.”

Slowly he nodded, regret lining his expression.

Hacker’s face fell into her hands. “Oh, God… They’re watching her. They could…” Her voice trailed off, head lifting to look at him, eyes wide with futile hope that he would deny what was going through her mind.

Oliver couldn’t lie to her. Gaze locked on her own, face solemn, he nodded grimly.

She choked on a sob. “Waller would really do that, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes.” He stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You _can’t_ let on to your mom.” The archer’s voice was emphatic.

Her eyes lifted to his, tears glistening in them.

Oliver kept his gaze on hers. “If she even _suspects_ something is wrong they _will_ kill her.” His other hand rose to grip her other shoulder. “You _have_ to make her believe that all is well.”

A brittle laugh escaped her. “Right... All is well. Everything is just _fine_. There’s just agents from a black ops government agency just outside her door waiting for me to fuck up so they can drop in and kill her…”

“Hacker…” he gently cut in.

Her small, white teeth bit into her dark lower lip, eyes blinking up at the ceiling, trying to hold back tears while she breathed deeply through her nose. “This is so messed _up_.”

“Hey,” Oliver gently prompted her.

Hacker lowered her eyes to meet his, a thin sheen of tears in them.

“I’ll help you get through this, Hacker… Get through this alive and back home,” he promised. “Your mom will be safe, you’ll see her again.” Oliver kept his eyes level and intent on hers, making sure she could read his sincerity. “I swear it to you, Hacker. Okay?”

Her lips lifted in a tremulous smile, nodding slowly. “Okay…” She reached up, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Archer.”

Oliver swallowed hard, the trust in her eyes…it was painful to see, he didn’t deserve that. After everything he’d done, all the people he’d failed…who’d _died_ because of him, he didn’t deserve such trust, such faith as he saw shining in her gaze. He couldn’t let her down. He _wouldn’t_. Oliver refused to let her name be added to that dark and bloody list.

The door opened beside them, they turned to see Waller standing in the doorway, both of them stiffening and jerking apart.

Waller cocked an eyebrow at them before focusing her attention solely on Hacker. “We’re ready for you.” She pointedly stepped aside.

Hacker glanced instead at Oliver.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he assured her.

Still not looking wholly satisfied, she nodded then finally followed Waller inside, looking back at him one last time before the door closed.

Oliver rubbed his thumb rapidly against his fingertips.

>>>\------------>

Felicity followed Amanda—she’d taken to calling Waller by her first name like Archer did since it seemed to annoy the woman—through the maze of desks, computers, and the techs working at them. They reached one particular terminal where the tech stood up and stepped aside to let her sit down, handing her a Bluetooth earpiece.

“We’ll be listening in on the call,” Amanda informed her, “so don’t think of doing anything stupid.”

Archer’s revelation still echoing in her head, the hacker ground her teeth together, nodding sharply and placing the Bluetooth into her ear. The ringing chimed through her head while Felicity waited with bated breath.

“This is Donna,” her mother chirped.

It took a couple of tries before Felicity could speak, the sound of her mother’s voice clogging her throat with emotion. “Mom?”

“Felicity! Baby! I’ve been worried!” her mother cried, nearly too loud for Felicity’s ear to tolerate. “It’s been over a month!”

“Yeah, I know,” she paused and blinked rapidly to keep tears at bay, “I’m sorry. You know how it can be…working for the government…” She shot a glare at Amanda before looking away again. “I wasn’t able to…get in touch until now.”

“Listen to my little girl, sounding all official, a government agent, doing secret things…”

Felicity closed her eyes, unable to listen to her mother’s excited rambling, she knew that to Donna it was like a spy movie or something.

“Mom…” she sighed.

“I know, I know, you can’t tell me anything.”

“Yeah.” She could barely speak around the tightness in her throat. “H-how are things with you, Mom?”

The bubbly blonde chattered on about work: one of the floor bosses being caught with his pants around his ankles with a waitresses by his wife, so-and-so getting banned _again_ from the casino, which married lawyer had propositioned her this week, how the old manager was fired (“Thank _God_ , we were all so tired of him grabbing our asses every time we passed him.”) and that the new manager was a very savvy woman… Felicity let her mother’s gossipy rambling, which she’d always thought so inane before but now was like a comforting blanket, wash over her.

“Felicity…” Donna’s tone was suddenly almost tentative and Felicity could just see her mother biting her lip. “I know that you can’t say where you are or what you’re doing…but… Just…stay safe, sweetheart.”

The hacker swallowed thickly at the quaver in her mother’s voice.

“And, call when you can,” she softly pleaded.

Felicity swallowed, nodding even though Donna couldn’t see her. “I will, Mom.” Amanda signaled for her to wrap it up; the goth pressed her lips together to keep the sob welling up in her throat at bay. “Mom, I have to get going…you take care of yourself.” Her voice was strained with trying to control her tears.

“You too, baby. I love you. And call me as soon as you can.”

Squeezing her eyes shut as she felt a few tears slide down her cheeks, Felicity kept nodding. “I will. I love you too, Mom.”

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye, Mom…” The line cut out, the hacker pulling the Bluetooth from her ear and shoving it into the hands of the tech before turning and stalking towards the door, not waiting for Amanda. She flung the door open, striding out into the hall where Archer was waiting exactly where she’d left him. “Let’s go,” she mumbled, eyes downcast, unable to look at him with how all over the place her emotions were.

His footsteps were nearly silent—stupid ninja skills—as they fell in beside her. They didn’t say a word the entire journey back to their apartment. Once there, Felicity went straight through and out the window onto the fire escape, leaning against the railing as she stared off into the distance, ignoring the gaudy, lewd signs across the street.

Several minutes later she heard Archer climb through the window and pause beside her, holding out a steaming cup of tea. Felicity mutely accepted the cup, she really wasn’t a tea drinker, but the scent was calming and the warmth in her hands soothing.

Distracted, she slowly turned the cup in her hands, staring sightlessly ahead, biting her lip. “Archer…can I…ask you something?” She quickly turned her head to look at him, one hand raised in placation. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

He hesitated for a moment but nodded.

“Do you…” The hacker chewed on the inside of her cheek. “You mentioned when we first met that everyone you cared about thought you were dead. Does that include…family?”

His fingers rubbed against each other in that familiar gesture. “Yes.” His voice was rough with the thought of those people; Felicity thought that was all she was going to get, and she was fine with that, but then he surprised her by offering even more. “My mother…and my kid sister, Thea.”

Felicity’s breath caught at him sharing not only what family he had, but…his sister’s name. Especially since he hadn’t told her his own yet. “Thea…that’s a pretty name.”

He slowly nodded. “She’s… I haven’t seen her since she was 13. She’s 15 now.”

She sucked in a breath sharply. At least two years. He’d been away from his family, the people he loved for two years or more, and, according to him, those very people had thought he was _dead_ all that time. Still did… God, what _hell_ that must be for both him and them. Before she could even think about it, Felicity had reached out and placed a gentle hand on Archer’s arm. A corner of her brain told her to pull away, that he might not be comfortable with the contact, but another part of her pointed out that making a big deal of it might make more of it than it might be for him, so she left her hand there and he didn’t move away. “You’ll see them again.” Her voice was soft but sure, surer than she probably should make it with how uncertain their lives were, but Archer needed hope.

The sound he made was non-committal, but he nodded. “Maybe…”

They remained like that, staring at the people in the street going about their lives until the sun began to set. Felicity’s hand never left his arm.

>>>\------------>

Felicity tried to not flinch at the grunts, violent smacks of fists on flesh, and half-muffled curses from Archer’s end of the comms, working to keep her attention on the computer screen in front of her and her fingers flying across the keys.

“How long?” he growled across the comms, his words punctuated by audible blows.

“Ten minutes, tops.” Her fingers never stopped moving, eyes fixated on the code scrolling across the screen.

This op they’d had to separate in the building; once Archer had seen her safely ensconced in the server room, he’d had to go after a piece of tech in one of the labs with her guiding him and bypassing security while also hacking and dropping a few lovely, if she did say so herself, but discreet pieces of spyware on their system.

“Done!” she announced five minutes later, giving an automatic fist pump before she began packing up her laptop and cords.

“I’m three floors above you, I’ll be there in—”

Felicity jumped as Archer was cut off by the explosive, repetitive fire of an automatic weapon. “ARCHER!” she shouted, hand going to the comm in her ear.

“I’m fine.” She could tell his teeth were gritted, whether just in frustration or from pain as well she wasn’t sure. “Some guards blocking the hall to the stairs.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “Get yourself out of here.”

“Hacker!” he snapped.

Quickly Felicity cut in as she slung her bag onto her back. “I have a clear exit just two doors down. I’m fine, I can get out easily. You worry about yourself, you’re the one in a pickle right now.” She quietly crept to the door and eased it open like he’d been teaching her.

“Damn it, Hacker!” Archer snarled as a new round of automatic fire started.

Not hearing anything in the hall she peeked out, and finding it empty, slipped through the door, closing it as quietly as possible before turning and starting down the hall in the direction of the nice, ground-floor exit. “Chill, Archer. I’m—” Her voice died as she turned the corner to see a guard only a few feet away, pulling his gun at the sight of her. “Oh, frack.”

“HACKER!” Felicity barely registered Archer’s shout and the ruckus on the other end of the comm as the muzzle of the weapon rose, training on her. Everything seemed to slow down, this was it…this was how she was going to die. The gun leveled with her head, Felicity still frozen in place, and she could see his finger starting to tighten on the trigger.

It all happened at almost the exact same moment. There was the loud crack of a gun firing, an explosion of bright red blood that sprayed across Felicity’s face and neck from the guard, a whistling past her ear and then a sharp thud in the wall behind her…

The guard, eyes wide with shock, dropped to the floor, blood gushing from the wound in his neck. What felt like a lifetime later Archer was there, gripping one of her arms, a gun in his other hand. _Oh,_ a remote part of her brain faintly noted, _he shot that guard._

“Hacker! HACKER! Are you okay?!” Archer’s voice sounded like it was coming from under water through the ringing in her ears. His blue eyes searched her unresponsive ones frantically. “Hacker?!”

She blinked slowly. “He’s dead…” The words fell from her numb lips without her permission.

Archer whipped around, seeming to hear something at the other end of the hall, before turning back to her, wrapping one arm around her and half-dragging her over to their exit. “C’mon.”

“He’s dead…” she mumbled the words again as they slipped out the door. She’d never seen someone die before.

 

_Your heaven’s trying everything  
_ _Your heaven’s trying everything to break me down_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am having Donna know that Felicity is working for the government, though she has NO idea exactly what Felicity is doing or where she is or precisely what agency she’s working for. I hope that the chapter was worth the wait, and depending on how things go with my move and settling into my new home I should have the next chapter up much faster than this one was posted. Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!


	4. Flaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” he eventually rasped, knowing she probably wouldn’t even hear him.  
> Finally she blinked, her hollow gaze shifting to his.  
> His jaw was clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. “This is my fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, let me just say that I LOVE this chapter! It’s my favorite so far, and also my dartie’s favorite. I had SO much fun with this chapter! The last chapter I posted as I was leaving my old home in Washington, this chapter I’m posting from my new apartment in Maryland, it’s been a whirlwind but I’m getting settled. Thank you for all of the comments, kudos, faves, alerts and bookmarks, all of the support and encouragement, you guys are AWESOME!
> 
> The song for this chapter is Flaws by Bastille.
> 
> Dartie, as always you’re the BEST! Happy birthday, hon! *TACKLE HUGS*

**Mixed Tape: Side A**

**Chapter 4: Flaws**

_When all your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one_  
_A wonderful part of the mess that we made  
_ _We pick ourselves undone_

_All of your flaws and all of my flaws, they lie there hand in hand_  
_Ones we’ve inherited, ones that we learn  
_ _They pass from man to man_

_There’s a hold in my soul_  
_I can’t fill is, I can’t fill it_  
_There’s a hole in my soul  
_ _Can you fill it? Can you fill it?_

_You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve_  
_And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground_  
_Dig them up—let’s finish what we started  
_ _Dig them up—so nothing’s left unturned_

_All of your flaws and all of my flaws, when they have been exhumed_  
_We’ll see that we need them to be who we are  
_ _Without them we’d be doomed_

_When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are counted  
_ _When all of your flaws and all of my flaws and counted_

 

The entire trek to the safe house Oliver had to physically guide and support Hacker, hands on her shoulders, against her back, around her waist, cupping her elbows, attempting at every turn to make them look like just a normal couple tangled up in each other on their way home. The young woman didn’t once make a single sound, didn’t once take her eyes off the ground in front of her, skin paler than he’d ever seen and ice cold to the touch. She was in shock. Her knees kept giving out as he hurried them through the streets, and each time he’d grip her waist tightly, keeping her upright so that other pedestrians wouldn’t notice, speaking to her softly and gently shaking her until she regained her footing. The slow-growing soft spot he’d been nursing for her desperately wished that he could let her stop and rest, that he could properly treat her, but Oliver was all too aware of how dangerous it was for them out in the open and how he couldn’t draw any more attention to them, so he kept pushing her onward. They were miles from their apartment and the primary A.R.G.U.S. facilities, but there was a safe house not far away, if Hacker could just hold on until then.

When they finally reached the building, and Hacker’s legs buckled again halfway up the stairs, this time he didn’t bother restraining himself and swept her up in his arms bridal-style. Her arm fumbled several times, likely numb from the shock, before managing to wrap weakly around his neck. Oliver kicked the door closed behind them and strode over to the bed in the middle of the dingy, dimly-lit room, setting her down on the mattress gently. She remained in the exact position that he put her in, arm falling limply from his shoulders to the bedspread and her head bowed. He practically tore his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms as he crouched down in front of her. He carefully reached up and lowered her hood, cradling her face in his palms. The blood dried that splattered her face was a testament to how close a call it’d been…and damn it, if he hated that she had to go through that, that _he’d_ put her in that position. That man should’ve _never_ gotten so close.

“Hey,” Oliver called quietly, thumb stroking over her cheek trying to get her to respond. “Hacker, look at me.” He gently brushed the lank, black and purple strands that’d fallen into her face back.

Her usually fiery blue eyes just continued to stare dully down at her lap.

“C’mon, Hacker, please, look at me.” His voice was actually edging toward begging now.

He counted the heartbeats it took before that kohl-rimmed gaze finally, with agonizing slowness, turned to him. They stared at each other in charged, tense silence for what felt like an eternity. Damn it all to hell, he _hated_ that almost dead look in her eyes! He’d done this to her! He’d broken her like this!

Swallowing hard, Oliver forced back all of the ways he wanted to curse himself and instead stood, letting his hands fall away from her and turning to the bathroom.

Her slim fingers were immediately around his wrist tight as a vise, and he whipped back around to see the beginnings of panic in her eyes.

He covered her white-knuckle grip with his larger palm. “I’m just going to the bathroom to get a washcloth for your face.”

For a moment her grip tightened further, before finally relaxing as her hand dropped limply to her side again.

_Fuck_ , Oliver mentally cursed himself, lips a razor-thin white line. Jaw clenched, he forced himself to turn on his heel and go to the bathroom, snagging a bowl from a side table on his way. After banging all of the cabinets open and closed he finally found the one with the linens and pulled out a washcloth, dropping it into the bowl which he then filled with warm water.

Oliver was cautious as he approached her, not wanting to startle his young partner and make things worse than he already had. “Hey,” he said softly, just before sitting down beside her on the mattress.

Hacker didn’t move an inch, still staring out blankly into the room.

Wringing out the excess water, Oliver, in one of the gentlest gestures he’d made in _years_ , delicately grasped her chin and with equal care wiped at the dried blood on her temple and cheek.

Silence hung heavy in the air, though while Oliver felt the full weight of his self-blame and hatred, Hacker seemingly remained locked in her own head.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually rasped, knowing she probably wouldn’t even hear him.

Finally she blinked, her hollow gaze shifting to his.

His jaw was clenched so hard he was surprised his teeth didn’t crack. “This is my fault.”

Something stirred in her eyes, and Hacker’s lips moved feebly a couple of times before one word managed to escape, barely a whisper. “What?”

Oliver dunked the washcloth and wrung it again before going to work on the arterial spray across her neck. “It’s my job to protect you and I failed.”

“No.” Her voice came out surprisingly strong considering her state and how thready the last word she said had been.

His blue eyes snapped up to hers, finding life abruptly and vividly returning to them.

“No.” She insisted, shaking her head. “This isn’t your fault. You saved my life, Archer.” The gratitude lacing her words nearly made him sick.

“You never should’ve been in that position in the first place, _I_ screwed up.”

>>>\------------>

Piqued, Felicity reached up with her suddenly much more cooperative hands and shoved Archer’s away, turning her body towards his. “Stop it! Stop blaming yourself! There are a lot of incredible things you can do, Archer, but being everywhere at once isn’t one of them! You can’t control _everything_.”

There was a dubious twist to his mouth, and it sent another surge of annoyance through her, and she welcomed it wholeheartedly to chase away the numbness that’d overtaken her. She still felt almost pitifully weak, but at least her head no longer felt like it was full of cotton.

“We both know the risks of this job. I made a choice. Me. _My_ life, _my_ choice.” She poked his chest with her index finger, for all the non-effect it’d have against his stupidly musclely torso. “Was I scared? Of course! Do I wish that I could unsee that guy…?” she trailed off, but shook her head before she could be dragged down again by that thought, “ _Definitely_ wish I could erase that. But you saved my life, so… Yeah, not going to be sorry for that…’cause I like living…”

The battle raging inside of him shone clearly in his expressive, at least to her, eyes. And almost like he knew she could see, he dropped his gaze, tossing the washcloth into the bowl on the nightstand. Felicity tracked his movements as he stood and moved over to the bathroom. “I’ll get a shower running for you…we need to get you warm,” he said quietly.

With that statement she finally noticed the violent shivers racking her frame, and pulled his coat tighter around her. “Archer,” she managed to force through her still sluggish vocal chords.

He paused at the door, turning back to meet her gaze.

Felicity swallowed thickly, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “Thank you, Archer…for saving my life.”

Though his face remained impassive, a torrent of emotions flickered through his gaze before finally settling into his usual calmness. “Oliver.”

Her breath hitched, even her shivering momentarily pausing. “What?”

“My name,” he continued quietly. “It’s Oliver…Queen.”

A lump rose in her throat and her eyes burned. Damn it, why did she want to cry?! Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she replied, “Felicity. Felicity Smoak.”

“Felicity.” The way he rolled her name around on his tongue, as if tasting it— _God_ , she _hated_ her brain sometimes—sent a shiver down her spine that had absolutely _nothing_ to do with her being in shock.

She gripped his jacket like a lifeline, gaze locked with his as she tried out his name. “Oliver.” It fell from her lips with a surprising ease, as if she’d already said it a hundred times before.

The air was thick with a tension that Felicity wasn’t ready to examine or name, until she finally _had_ to look away, trying to take controlled breaths around her shivering.

“I’ll get that shower going,” Ar-Oliver ground out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn and move fully into the bathroom, then moments later she heard the hissing spray of the shower, soon there was the lightest brush of warm steam against her cheek, making her skin prickle.

The toes of Oliver’s boots came to stop a couple of feet from her, but she didn’t lift her head to look at him. “Can you stand?” His voice was so soft and gentle…she’d never heard him like that before.

Teeth rattling, Felicity nodded and began pushing herself to her feet…only for her knees to fail her seconds after she’d managed to stand up straight. She braced herself to hit the floor, but never did. Oliver’s hands caught her around the waist, keeping her from completely collapsing, and pressing her face into his very firm chest—she’d never truly realized before just _how_ well-muscled he was. She’d known that he was _really_ strong—hello, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a feather—but she hadn’t really realized just _how_ much so. Was the man made of nothing _but_ muscle?! She bet you could bounce a quarter off his ass— _dammit_! Not helpful, brain!

“You ok?” Felicity felt the words rumble from his chest against her cheek more than she actually heard them.

Swallowing thickly she nodded. “Legs apparently decided not to cooperate,” she attempted to joke, though it came out far too strained.

A startled squeak escaped her when he abruptly swept her up in his arms—again, for the second time in less than half an hour, though the first time was rather fuzzy. He carried her into the bathroom then sat her down on the closed lid of the toilet and knelt in front of her, hands going to the laces of her black, high-top Converses. It was strange—though in a good way—seeing him like this, all gentle and taking care of her; the closest he’d ever gotten to this before was bringing her coffee when she needed it, but that could easily be chalked up to self-preservation considering what she was like when she was caffeine-deprived.

Once he had her shoes and socks off, Oliver made swift work of his own, tossing them into a corner with hers, before standing and divesting her of both their jackets—an extra violent shiver racking her frame with the removal of the outer layers. By now the entire bathroom was thick with steam from the shower, and she could just feel the heat starting to seep into her pores.

In one swift motion he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside—and did her mother _really_ tell her that it was impolite to stare? Felicity thought staring might be warranted in this situation. Good _God_...he really _was_ all muscle… Her brain was registering the various scars on his chest before Oliver picked her up again—how the hell did he make it seem like she weighed nothing?!—and walked over to the shower. She expected him to put her inside and leave her to care for herself, thus her yelp of surprise when he just stepped under the hot spray, her in his arms, both still fully clothed—minus shoes and socks...and his shirt.

“You’re g-g-going t-to g-get s-soaked!” Felicity protested despite her chattering teeth.

He kept his back to the spray, shielding her so that the water didn’t hit her full force, though a fine mist was cast over her exposed skin. “You’re still coming out of shock, I can’t leave you alone like this.”

Crap. Why did he have to be all sweet and caring and gentle and hot, and she was pressed against his bare chest… _frack_ , now she could feel every little ripple of all that muscle against her…wasn’t she supposed to be in shock? Why the hell did she have to be noticing all this _now_?!

“Besides,” he added, “there should be spare clothes in the drawers.”

Felicity prayed that the thick steam and her hair hid how red her face must be right now, or that he’d chalk it up to the improvised sauna he’d created.

Oliver—it was surprising how easy it was for her to start thinking of him by that name after only just learning it—carefully turned them, slowly introducing her shivering body to the hot stream of water, obviously not wanting to shock her system further by doing so too quickly. Bit by bit, the warmth seeped into her, lessening her shaking to the occasional shudder—some of which the shock wasn’t totally to blame for. She snuck a glance up at him, only to find him watching her intently and quickly looked away again—dammit, couldn’t he holster the intense gaze until she _wasn’t_ pressed against him with them both soaking wet?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed the situation, her eyes decided to focus on the so very bare and wet chest she was currently pressed against. Her attention immediately caught on a particularly vicious twist of flesh on his right shoulder. It looked like he’d actually been _impaled_ , though what the _hell_ it could have been that it’d left _that_ big of a scar—bullets didn’t leave scars that big, did they?—Felicity didn’t know. Later she’d decide to blame it on the shock clouding her thinking—nope, it had absolutely nothing to do with being held by a _very_ hot, half-naked man—but she reached out and touched that scar, fingers delicately tracing the shape and curiously absorbing the texture. His muscles jumped under her touch and there was a hitch in his breathing that had her eyes snapping up to his, the normally summer-sky blue irises now darkened to navy, staring at her in a way that made her heart race and stomach clench. _Oh, boy._

Felicity swallowed thickly, watching as his eyes flicked to her lips before returning to her own. Was he going to kiss her? Her own gaze was drawn to his mouth, wondering what it would feel like against hers, what his kiss would be like—slow and seductive, hard and passionate, lingering and sweet? She lifted her eyes back to his, hand sliding up the scar to dig her fingers into the muscle of his shoulder. He was watching her so very closely, the muscles of his jaw visibly playing under the skin, and she could read the inner debate warring in his eyes before finally he tore his gaze from hers.

Blue eyes dropping to the floor, she swallowed hard, releasing her grip on his shoulder, and managed to stammer, “I-I think I can stand now…” _Shit_ , was that _really_ her voice?! Crap. Felicity prayed that Oliver chalked its huskiness up to the shock and the steam— _shut up_ , brain! She quickly derailed the likely train of thought that word would take her down.

He hesitated before oh-so-slowly lowering her feet to touch the floor, but kept his arm around her waist—probably a good thing considering the moment he had her standing her knees wobbled.

With trembling hands Felicity reached for the bar of soap resting in a corner nook and rubbed it between her palms—refusing to think about how many other people might have used it, apparently ARGUS wasn’t above penny-pinching where they could. She worked up a lather before setting it aside and scrubbed her face, trying to rid herself of the running remnants of her makeup and whatever traces of blood Oliver might’ve missed.

He took one hand from her waist and out of the corner of her eye she saw him grab the shampoo bottle from a rack hanging from the shower head. Moments later she felt him squirt the gel on top of her head before replacing the bottle. Felicity had to bite back a groan at his hand rubbing the shampoo into her hair, and it took concerted effort on her part to keep washing her face and neck with his fingers sliding over her scalp.

She wouldn’t admit—at least not out loud—that she let it carry on for longer than strictly necessary before reluctantly saying, “I think…um…I think I’ve gotten all of the… I think my face is clean.” Felicity blurted the last part came out in a nervous rush.

Disappointment swept through her as his hand left her hair, but it immediately returned to her waist—and no, that absolutely wasn’t relief she was feeling at him still touching her… _shit_. Oliver supported most of her weight as they moved back under the spray; while her fingers wiped away the suds on her face, his worked the shampoo out of her locks. Once she was soap-free they stepped out of the spray, Felicity’s eyes scanning the shower for conditioner to no avail—boy, was her hair going to be a bear later…

There was no real reason to delay any further, her shivering had stopped quite a while ago. “I think I’m…warm enough now…” Nope, brain, _definitely_ , not going down that path.

“All right,” he reached past her to twist the water off, “let’s get you dried off and into some dry clothes.”

Legs still shaky, Felicity allowed herself to lean into Oliver as he helped her out of the shower and guided her to sit on the toilet. He grabbed one of the towels he’d set out earlier and wrapped it around her, rubbing his hands up and down her upper arms. “I’m going to grab you some clothing. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, watching as he disappeared through the doorway. Her cargo pants and shirt hung heavily on her frame and now that she was out of the shower they were chilling her skin. Letting the towel drop to her waist, Felicity reached down and tugged the sodden material of her shirt up, wriggling and struggling to get it off, but only succeeding in tangling herself up in it and stuck with her arms stretched over her head. She’d just let out a sound of frustration when the fabric was abruptly dragged from her, face. She blinked several times until her vision cleared enough to make out Oliver kneeling in front of her pulling her hands free of the sleeves…a _still_ very shirtless Oliver… One corner of her mind, the part not dying of embarrassment at being left in only her bra, scrutinized the many scars littering his chest, abdomen—the man had a _serious_ six-pack her fingers itched to make sure wasn’t a shock-induced hallucination—shoulders and arms, some obviously running beneath his skin and into those built muscles.

His gaze was trained on what he was doing, quite pointedly not looking at her nearly half-naked form. Blushing a bright red, Felicity crossed her now liberated arms over her black bra-clad torso, giving him a whispered, “Thank you.”

Still keeping his eyes averted, Oliver held out a _very_ large t-shirt. “They didn’t have much in the way of clothing, I don’t think the sweatpants will fit you…”

She nodded wordlessly, accepting the item.

Still being a gentleman—his mother taught him some manners, apparently—he stood, turning his back to her. The skin of that surface was equally marked by scarring—yep, something bigger than a bullet had _definitely_ gone _through_ his right shoulder—and his left shoulder-blade bore a stylized dragon tattoo. What the _hell_ had this man been through?!

Felicity shook her head to clear it; he still needed to change out of his own wet clothing—and she just _knew_ he wasn’t going to take care of himself until he was satisfied she was completely cared for—she shouldn’t keep him standing there just so she could ogle him. She decided not to risk standing herself just yet and instead did her best to wiggle out of her pants—grateful that she hadn’t worn jeans considering how much more difficult they’d be to get off—this done she tossed them off to the side and paused. For several moments, Felicity stared down at her underwear considering whether or not to take them off too, she didn’t have any others to change into but they were soaked-through. _Screw it_ , she finally decided, shucking both her bra and underwear before rubbing her damp skin and hair with the towel, wanting to get as dry as possible before putting on the shirt. The sleeves hung to her elbows, the neck she had to pull to the side to slip over her shoulder because it dipped too low over her chest, and the hem hit her only a couple of inches above her knees, and Felicity was _far_ too aware that she wore nothing underneath.

Taking a bracing breath, she cleared her throat. “I’m…uh…dressed…” For lack of a better word.

He turned around, eyes flicking from her to the pile of clothing next to her, and she saw his Adam’s apple bob before he returned his gaze to her—actually it was more like a little to the left of her ear and just above her shoulder, offering her his hand. “I’ll make sure your clothes get hung up to dry.”

Felicity’s eyes went wide, she knew that her clothing _needed_ to be hung up to dry, including her underwear, but she hadn’t thought about the fact that since she was so unsteady _Oliver_ would be the one to hang them…including her underwear. “Thanks,” she murmured, grasping his palm and using it to tug herself to her feet.

Oliver kept one hand on her elbow and the other around her waist supporting most of her weight until they reached the bed where the sheet and thin blanket were already pulled back. The lumpy mattress, flat pillow and thread-bare linens felt heavenly to her worn body—who the hell knew nearly being killed, having your would-be killer be killed in front of you, and then going into shock could be so tiring?

Her partner tugged the blankets up over her shoulder, making sure she was well covered—Felicity hazily wondered if she could remember the last time she’d been tucked into bed. “Thank you,” she mumbled again, eyelids drooping.

He ran a hand softly over her hair—the thought drifted through her mind how those large, calloused hands which could so easily commit such acts of violence were so very gentle and careful with her. “I’m going to go in the bathroom and get changed real quick.” Oliver kept his voice low, but still loud enough for her to hear.

“Okay,” Felicity managed around a yawn. “Thank you.” She couldn’t seem to stop saying it, but she wasn’t just thanking him for taking care of her but also for being considerate enough to tell her where he was going like that. Making sure she knew he wasn’t leaving her—wasn’t abandoning her.

>>>\------------>

Oliver watched his partner snuggle into the ratty old bed, her long dark hair fanning out behind her over the pillow, face scrubbed clean of her usual makeup. She looked so young—she _was_ young, very young—but like this she seemed even more so, and so very small curled up on the mattress. His hand twitched at his side with the effort of keeping it there, not reaching out to brush back the lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

With a shake of his head he made himself turn and head to the bathroom, hanging both of their clothes up, drying himself quickly, then changing into the pair of sweatpants before returning to the bedroom. He moved silently to the chair near the bed when Felicity reached out, catching his wrist; Oliver started, he’d thought that she was asleep.

“Ol’ver,” she lifted her head sleepily, “sit wi’ me for a while?” She tugged on his wrist, urging him to sit instead on the mattress beside her.

After a moment’s hesitation, he let himself be drawn down next to her.

A tiny smile lifted her lips as he acquiesced, letting her hand fall to curl by her chin. “Oliver,” warmth seemed to suffuse his chest every time she said his name, “how’d you die?”

He stilled beside her.

“I mean,” she murmured, “you said that ev’ryone thinks you’re dead. I was just wondering how they think you died? You don’t have t’ tell me, if you don’t wan’ to.”

He watched her for several seconds, the guilelessness in her face disarming him even more than usual. He took a deep breath. “I was on a yacht.” She opened her eyes to look at him, giving him all of her attention. “It sank,” he whispered tersely, looking down. “I was the only survivor.”

“Oliver.” Felicity reached across the mattress to cover his hand with hers.

His eyes were drawn to the contrast of her, small, slim, unmarred hand against his larger, tanned and scarred one. “I eventually washed up on an island in the North China Sea, it’s called Lian Yu.” Oliver lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s Mandarin for Purgatory.”

Her fingers moved again, running over one of the scars along his side, his breath catching at her touch. Felicity seemed too close to unconsciousness to be fully aware of her actions.

“Is that where you got these?”

Casting his eyes towards the ceiling, working to control his reaction to her, he swallowed and then returned his gaze to the goth beside him. “Yeah. Most of them.”

Felicity’s face was so solemn beyond the sleepiness, fingers gently stroking the scar. “So much pain,” she murmured before finally withdrawing her hand, tucking it under her chin with a shiver. “I don’t really have any scars. Not any on my skin anyway. ‘Cept maybe from my wisdom teeth.” She stared at the bedspread, lids falling lower. “My boyfriend committed suicide and it was my fault.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up.

“He went to prison an’ committed suicide ‘cause of me,” she continued, her eyes barely slits.

He gave in to his earlier urge and brushed the hair back from her face. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

She lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, making a sleepy, non-committal sound and turning into his touch. “It was my virus. Cooper used it, but the virus was my design, my work…” Felicity reached up, catching his hand and drawing it down to snuggle her cheek into the warmth of his palm, voice slowing, yawns interspersing her words. “He took the blame for it all…and he died,” her voice trailed off, body relaxing and fingers still tangled around his as she finally succumbed to sleep.

Oliver sat watching her, feeling her breaths gently puff against his palm, and he let his thumb trace the tips of her fingers. Slowly he eased himself to sit fully on the bed, his back against the headboard and legs stretched out in front of him. He didn’t want to disturb her by moving to the chair, telling himself he just wanted to be close in case she needed him. His own eyes grew heavy and he decided he would just sit here beside her for a little while…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you guys were wondering when Oliver and Felicity would tell each other their names…how was that? I have been SO excited for this chapter with everything that happened. I hope that it lived up to expectations! Thank you for reading!


	5. Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh-so-slowly the sleep fog dissipated enough that certain things became undeniably clear to Felicity: Her pillow was harder than the one she usually slept on and much less flat, in addition to curving up and around her shoulders quite firmly. And the heat-source, that lovely furnace enveloping her, was moving, breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Finally finished the new chapter of Mixed Tape! This chapter was a real trip to write! XD It was a struggle a few times but overall a LOT of fun! The title song is “Riptide” by Vance Joy, and the song towards the end of the chapter is “Leave Out All the Rest” by Linkin Park. Thank you everyone for all of the reviews, comments, kudos and likes, the really keep me going! So, without further ado, here it is! The morning after! ;-D
> 
> Dartie, you’re awesome! Thank you for assuring me that I wasn’t crazy for writing this chapter! You’re the best!

**Mixed Tape: Side A**

**Chapter 5: Riptide**

 

_I was scared of dentists and the dark_  
_I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations_  
_Oh, all my friends are turning green_  
_You’re the magician’s assistant in their dream_

_Oh, oh, and they come unstuck_

_Lady, running down to the riptide  
__Taken away to the dark side_  
_I wanna be your left hand man_  
_I love you when you’re singing that song and_  
_I got a lump in my throat ‘cause_  
_You’re gonna sing the words wrong_

_There’s this movie that I think you’ll like  
__This guy decides to quit his job and heads to New York City_  
_This cowboy’s running from himself_  
_And she’s been living on the highest shelf_

_I just wanna, I just wanna know_  
_If you’re gonna, if you’re gonna stay_  
_I just gotta, I just gotta know_  
_I can’t have it, I can’t have it any other way_  
_I swear she’s destined for the screen_  
_Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you’ve ever seen, oh_

 

 

Felicity woke slowly, languidly drifting up through molasses-thick layers of sleep, and for the longest while the only thing she was aware of was how warm, comfortable and utterly _safe_ she felt. When was the last time she’d felt so secure? Like nothing in the world could touch her, let alone hurt her? She burrowed deeper into the heavenly heat-source enveloping her, lazily filling her lungs with a clean, decidedly _masculine_ scent—a very familiar one at that.

 

Oh-so-slowly the sleep fog dissipated enough that certain things became undeniably clear to Felicity: Her pillow was harder than the one she usually slept on and _much_ less flat, in addition to curving up and around her shoulders quite firmly. And the heat-source, that lovely furnace enveloping her, was moving, _breathing_. Gradually, Felicity realized that one of her arms was wrapped around said breathing furnace and her head was tucked into this nice little hollow, her little cocoon shielding her from the light she could just make out pouring into the room through the windows—cursed morning sunlight, how dare it be so bright so before she’s had her precious first cup of coffee? She blinked and immediately grimaced at the gritty feeling of her eyes; she _hated_ it when she forgot to take her contacts out before bed.

 

Felicity cautiously spread her hand over the breathing furnace, exploring it lightly with her fingertips, and yep, that was skin. Very warm, _very_ naked skin. She pressed her fingers down a little harder, meeting some _very_ hard muscle beneath that very warm, very naked skin. She shifted, trying to put a little bit of space between her and that wall of warm, naked, hard muscle, and froze when that brought her in contact with something _else_ that was hard…

 

“Someone’s certainly happy this morning,” she muttered under her breath, eyes going wide with horror at the realization that she’d said that out loud. Her gaze shot to her cuddling companion’s face, which she couldn’t see since her own was tucked quite firmly under his chin, but he was still dead to the world, and had blessedly missed that particular gaffe.

 

Her eyes slid shut with a sigh of relief, reopening to a very up close view of his chest, and more tellingly the _scars_ on his chest, the ones that she’d just recently become familiar with—not _familiar_ familiar, though after that up close and personal moment in the shower, she _could_ say she had hands-on familiarity with them—and suddenly everything that happened yesterday—including _those_ memories, which she was still keeping walled-off—and last night—heat rushed up her neck and cheeks at _those_ thoughts—flooded back, along with her breathing furnace’s identity. _Oliver_. The man she’d known as “Archer” for over a month, and had quietly harbored an attraction to, was lying wrapped around her in a mangy safe house bed, _shirtless_ and...yep, she was still _only_ wearing a T-shirt; nothing underneath... And that shirt was bunched up nearly to her waist, with what felt suspiciously like his hand cupping her ass…her _bare_ ass.

 

_Oh, good gods of Google…_

 

She _needed_ to extract herself from this position before Oliver woke up and the level of awkwardness between them rocketed into the stratosphere. Taking a deep breath, Felicity slowly and oh-so-carefully lifted her arm, slipping it cautiously out from around his waist, pausing twice when he stirred, then finally reaching down and pinching his wrist between two fingers and lifting.

 

Oliver abruptly jerked awake, both arms tightening around her and pulling her flush against him, while his head snapped up and whipped from side to side, searching for threats.

 

“I thought your grabby hands were grabby before, but that’s quite the grip there now.” Felicity squeezed her eyes shut. Oh _God_ , why couldn’t her mouth take a few minutes to boot up in the morning…like her brain?

 

He froze, body going completely rigid against her, then jerked his hand away from her butt as if scalded.

 

“I didn’t mean to say that. Though at least I didn’t mention how Little Archer seems pretty happy— _oh my God, someone sew my mouth shut_!” She halted in tugging her shirt down to bury her face in her hands, forehead dropping to his chest. “I’m _so_ sorry, I should just have my mouth sealed, sewn, glued, stapled, whatever. I just shouldn’t talk, _ever_.”

 

“I like your mouth,” Oliver blurted out. When she’d mentioned his “Little Archer” he’d instantly jerked his hips away from her, but now he’d frozen in place, one arm stiff around her shoulders, obviously shocked at his own words.

 

Felicity’s head shot up at his words, eyes wide.

 

He began spluttering over his uncharacteristic gaffe, “I-I mean, you-you’re… I like…”

 

“Usually I’m the one talking in sentence fragments,” she blurted out, then snapped her mouth shut, mentally facepalming. Why couldn’t her verbal filter just once let her say something helpful when she needed it?!

 

Finally the archer closed his eyes, swallowing and taking a deep breath before mumbling, “I meant that I like the way you talk. That you don’t filter what you say.”

 

“Oh,” she managed, mouth hanging slightly open as she stared up at him, cheeks warm with what had to be a pretty spectacular blush. “Uh…thank you?”

 

Oliver cracked his eyes open to tentatively meet hers, their gazes locking for long moments.

 

Felicity wasn’t sure what it was she saw in his eyes, she’d gotten pretty good at reading him over the course of their partnership, but there were still times she struggled to understand what was going on behind his oh-so-expressive eyes. However, from the palpable tension rising between them, she had a feeling she wasn’t ready to know what emotions were flickering in the depths of those blue irises just inches from hers.

 

The hacker cleared her throat, ducking her head. “Um, so, we’d better, you know, get some clothes on. Get back into our real clothes, I mean, if they’re dry. They should be dry, after hanging all night, shouldn’t they? And I’d _really_ like to take my contacts out, but I don’t have my case, so, I don’t have anywhere to put them and I only have one other pair back at the apartment. Amanda probably wouldn’t shell out money for more before I’m due for them, would she? I mean the woman pinches pennies when it comes to a bar of soap—”

 

His palm landed on her T-shirt clad shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Felicity.”

 

The babble died gently on her lips, much more so than usual, her eyes rising to his and blinking owlishly.

 

Oliver took a deep breath before saying, “I’ll go check on our clothing and, uh, use the bathroom real quick.”

 

“Okay,” Felicity immediately agreed, trying to keep the blush that wanted to crawl up her neck again in check.

 

Keeping his eyes averted, Oliver eased himself away from her and out of bed; Felicity tried, _really_ she _did_ , to keep her eyes from ogling how the sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing off that delicious “V” that pointed to the still quite obvious tenting in the front—and _no_ , she most _definitely_ was not thinking about what he might do in the bathroom to relieve _that_ situation. She was almost grateful when the bathroom door closed behind him, removing both the temptation and distraction—at least that’s what she told herself, quite firmly. Maybe if she repeated it to herself enough she’d start to believe it.

 

>>>\------------>

 

Oliver Queen was freaking the fuck out.

 

A first, he was fairly sure, when it came to this kind of situation. Him waking up next to a pretty girl, namely. Only a couple of years previous—less than that to be honest—he would’ve taken full advantage of having a half-naked woman in bed and in his arms, seducing her without a second thought. Now…now he didn’t think he’d ever felt more embarrassed or horrified at his own—admittedly unconscious—behavior in groping an equally unconscious woman’s ass. A woman that trusted him to protect her and he’d failed to do so _twice_ in less than twelve hours before. And it being _Felicity_ , of all people, just made it even worse. His bright, sassy, sarcastic, goth partner, who had been watching his back all this time and he thanked her by groping hers at the first opportunity.

 

He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d slapped him for his wandering hands, but instead _she’d_ apologized for simply _babbling_. So not only did Oliver feel like a cad—he couldn’t believe he was _actually_ using the old-fashioned insult Laurel had occasionally thrown at him during their numerous break-ups—for groping her, but also the fact that he was actually _rewarded_ for it. He knew that Felicity had _no_ clue how much he enjoyed her babbles; how refreshing it was to have someone be _so_ honest, so _open_ in the world of secrets, lies and violence that he inhabited.

 

Oliver splashed cold water over his face before bracing his hands on the sink, head hanging with his eyes squeezed shut as he berated himself heartily, calling himself every type of asshole that he knew in both English and Mandarin, along with a couple of the Russian curses Anatoly had the time to teach him. Slowly he lifted his gaze to the mirror to glare at his reflection. Felicity was going through _enough_ hell being forced into working for Waller, she didn’t need him feeling her up because he needed to get laid on top of that. The thought had him dropping his head with a low groan, reaching again for the cold water.

 

A tentative tap on the door drew him out of his self-flagellation. “Yes?”

 

“Um…” Felicity’s nervous voice filtered softly through the plywood. “Not to rush you or anything,” he could easily see in his mind’s eye her adorable fidgeting, “but are our clothes dry? I’m just feeling a little…uh…underdressed out here.”

 

Oliver just barely restrained the urge to slap himself for leaving her out there in hardly anything for so long just so that he could wallow in his guilt. Quickly moving over to where their clothes hung from the shower curtain rod, he ran his hands over their shirts and pants—pointedly avoiding Felicity’s underwear, uncomfortable with the idea of pawing at her undergarments more than absolutely necessary—and upon finding their other clothing dry he felt it safe to assume that their respective underwear was too. He automatically reached for Felicity’s clothes, to hand to her, freezing with his hand just over where her bra hung next to her cargo pants before he changed his mind and turned to open the door. “They seem to be dry enough.”

 

Her eyes darted to her panties and bra and, blushing furiously, she snatched them up then grabbed her pants and shirt, unable to look at him the entire time. “I’ll go change out there while you change in here.” Before Oliver could say anything, Felicity dashed out of the bathroom, door closing swiftly behind her.

 

He dropped his head with a regretful sigh. Oliver didn’t deserve it, but he truly hoped that this awkwardness between them wouldn’t last. He already missed their easy, teasing camaraderie—he’d never really had a woman who was simply a friend before, he’d never realized how great it could be. God, how he hoped his idiotic actions hadn’t completely ruined their relationship.

 

>>>\------------>

 

Felicity blew out a harsh breath as she all but collapsed to sit on the bed, hugging her clothes to her chest in comfort. Seriously, how was this her life?! Things had been so surreal for months now, starting with the Feds hauling Cooper in and him committing suicide—her heart ached at that thought, though not as fiercely as it’d once-done—to Waller’s blackmail that not only landed Felicity into a partnership but _living_ with an actual Adonis—or would Apollo be a more apt comparison with the archery and the living-furnace attributes?—of a man with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

 

Now, after he’d saved her with the craziest, best shot she’d ever seen—and she _really_ wasn’t ready to deal with how close _that_ particular call had been—taken care of her while she was in shock—including getting half-naked in the shower with her; _yeah_ , she wasn’t ready to deal with that _at all_ —she woke up in his freakishly sexy, muscular arms, his hand on her naked butt, and mini-archer in _quite_ a good mood—she kept insisting to herself that it was just a normal “morning wood” situation and had _zero_ deeper meaning. The fact that Oliver woke up with a hard-on while holding her didn’t mean anything, she knew that guys just woke up that way frequently. It also didn’t mean anything that that obvious tenting, which had gone down while he was in the bathroom, had grown again when she’d been in there with him—not that she’d been _staring_ at _that_ part of his anatomy or anything…because that would be _wildly_ inappropriate—because why would a man who looked like he did ever be attracted to a woman like her? And even if he _did_ react because of her, it had probably been a _very_ long time since he’d been around another woman as much as they were thrown together, he probably didn’t have time to have his… _needs_ met, and not really any other women to meet them.

 

But what all this led to was the conclusion that her life was starting to feel more like a movie or TV show than reality.

 

She pressed her wadded up clothes to her face, muffling the sound of her overwhelmed scream into them, before letting her arms drop back down, the pile plopping lightly across her lap. A lock of hair fell into her face and Felicity blew it away with a frustrated breath, glaring upward. “Ya know, if this is some kind of cosmic joke or something I’m _really_ not seeing the humor.”

 

As if to answer her, a shrill beeping erupted from her hoodie on the floor, sending her scrambling for the phone apparently still in her pocket. The moment she saw the caller I.D. she rolled her eyes and decided it was less an answer to her comment and more a further taunt.

 

“Oliver, Amanda’s calling,” she shouted towards the bathroom.

 

The door flew open to reveal the archer now in jeans, though still shirtless—nope, Felicity _didn’t_ ogle him _again_ …not that she had been _before_ —and his hair dripping wet, looking as though he’d stuck his head under the faucet—and no, she _didn’t_ check the front of his jeans for the bulge, wondering if he’d done it to _cool_ down, a bulge that was no longer there.

 

Oliver held out his hand for the phone, which she automatically handed to him. He flipped it open, asking curtly, “Amanda?” After a moment, the woman responding, Felicity assumed, Oliver said, “We need extrac—” He rolled his eyes at a flurry of tiny noise from the phone. “Yes, we fucking got it, now how about getting us the hell _out_ of here?”

 

Until Oliver turned back and looked at her Felicity hadn’t realized she’d been staring—she may or may not have been contemplating the dragon tattoo on his shoulder and the way it moved with the ripples of his muscles. Blushing, she ducked her head and snatched up her abandoned clothes before rushing into the bathroom.

 

Once the door was shut she banged her head lightly against it a couple of times then blew out a frustrated breath and headed over to the sink, stripping off her borrowed shirt as she went. She lifted her gaze to the mirror, taking in her makeup-less face: the dark shadows under her eyes standing out starkly like bruises and the freckles that were normally so perfectly covered now visible, and her hair frizzy as a Brillo Pad. Ugh, and this is how Oliver sees her after waking up in bed together for the first time? Felicity slammed on the mental breaks at that thought. _First time_?! Nope, no, she didn’t mean _first_ she meant _only_ , because seriously, what were the odds of that _ever_ happening again. Right? Right.

 

A light knock on the door had her nearly jumping out of her skin, a startled “eep” escaping her. “Yeah?” she managed in a rather high-pitched, tight voice.

 

“Hey, uh, the extraction team should be here in five minutes,” Oliver called hesitantly through the door.

 

“Right! Great! I’ll be ready in a few!” Felicity winced at how squeaky her voice was.

 

“Okay. Um…I kinda need my shirt.”

 

Felicity’s wide eyes flew to the black T-shirt still draped over the curtain rod, doing a mental facepalm over her not thinking through his lack of shirt before—too distracted admiring the view. “Uh, right.” She started toward the shirt, but stopped dead, looking down at her stark naked form, doing an actual facepalm this time. _Right…that was not the best idea there, Smoak._ “Hang on!” she called out, dashing back to her pile of clothes and tugging them on as fast as she could, nearly falling over a couple of times in her rush, bumping her hip against the sink and letting out a curse.

 

Oliver’s voice came through the door only a second later, concern audible. “You okay, Felicity?”

 

“Yeah!” she immediately assured him, not wanting to risk him worrying enough to burst in, not with her only in her cargos and bra—not that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already seen, an unhelpful part of her brain supplied. “All good!” She yanked her shirt on almost violently and promptly got stuck. One arm was through the sleeve but the other was caught about midway and because she’d been pulling it over her head at the same time she couldn’t see...and she gracelessly tripped over the side of the tub, went sprawling in it with a yelp.

 

The door slammed against the wall with a thunderous bang, Oliver’s feet pounding across the floor as he shouted her name, “Felicity!”

 

Still doing her best involuntary turtle impression, she wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment. Seriously, how many times was it possible to humiliate herself in front of one person over the course of a single _morning_? Shouldn’t by the very law of averages she be able to do _something_ right by now?!

 

His calloused hands gently wrapped around her waist, lifting her to sit on the side of the tub before yanking the shirt off of her. “Felicity, are you okay?”

 

She couldn’t look at him, but managed a nod, muttering under her breath, “Yeah, nothing wounded but my pride.”

 

His hands were lightly skimming over her and she knew that he was just checking her for any injuries, but that didn’t stop her from shivering. Oliver’s palms immediately stilled, one on her shoulder and the other on her hip. “Uh, yeah, I think you’re…okay.”

 

Felicity’s eyes fluttered open to meet the siren’s call of his own fathomless gaze. How did a man who always seemed so stoic have such _very_ expressive eyes? Her breath caught at the emotions swirling in those blue depths, and she wondered if he realized that his thumb was gently tracing circles on her hipbone—the very thing that’d prompted her eyes to open in the first place—the slow sweeps of his finger stoking a fire low in her belly.

 

Oliver’s gaze dropped slightly from hers to her mouth like in the shower the night before. Would he actually kiss her this time? Her own gaze fell to his lips; they were slightly chapped, but still soft-looking and full. She couldn’t deny her burning curiosity to know how they would feel pressed against hers. His throat worked as Oliver audibly swallowed, and what was it about the muscles playing under his skin like that that was so very arousing?

 

His head inched towards hers and Felicity moved to meet him, ignoring the voice at the back of her mind telling her that this was a very bad idea.

 

The front door to the safe house slammed open, and boots pounded across the floor and into the bathroom. Oliver had already leapt to his feet, one hand snatching up the ceramic bowl he’d used to help clean her face the night before and levering his arm back to throw it at their attackers while his other hand pulled a knife seemingly from thin air. He positioned himself protectively in front of her so that she couldn’t see, or be seen, around his broad form.

 

Felicity crossed her arms over her bra-clad chest, eyes darting around for her shirt so at least she wouldn’t _feel_ so vulnerable and exposed, but unfortunately the traitorous garment had landed by the toilet, and with the way Oliver was positioned there was no way she could get around him.

_Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!_ She glared at her shirt before turning her attention back to their unexpected— _unwanted_ —guests to find Oliver lowering the bowl.

 

“What were you gonna do with that, Queen? Serve us breakfast?” a mocking voice questioned from somewhere in front of Oliver—good Google, the man was a giant, she couldn’t see _anything_ from around him.

 

Oliver’s defensive posture eased, but his body remained tense; Felicity could just make out the muscles of his jaw clenching. “Laugh it up, Miller, I could use the target practice,” he snarled.

 

The extraction team had arrived, she realized, blushing at the fact that the _would_ show up when she was topless—well, not quite _topless_ ; bra, yes, shirt, no, so…semi-topless? “Don’t you people ever knock?” The annoyed question slipped out without her permission, drawing exactly what she _really_ didn’t want while semi-topless, attention.

 

Every muscle in Oliver’s back immediately went rigid, and he gripped the knife at his side tighter.

 

A man peered around Oliver’s broad shoulders, Felicity vaguely recognized him from around the A.R.G.U.S. compound, and the moment he saw her a broad, lascivious smirk spread across his face. “Well, I can see now why you’re so pissed. I would be too, being interrupted while getting that.”

 

“What?!” Felicity yelped.

 

“Miller!” Oliver snarled at the same time.

 

“No! No, he wasn’t getting me here, now. I mean he wasn’t getting me _any_ time, not just not here and now. There was no getting of anyone anywhere…” She hugged her arms tighter around her chest, trying to cover as much of her bare skin as possible, all-too aware of how exposed she was to an entire A.R.G.U.S. extraction team. She drew on her embarrassment to fuel her outrage further. “And you’re a misogynistic swine. Talking about a man ‘getting’ a woman and referring to a woman as ‘that.’ What kind of dark ages were _you_ raised in?”

 

The bastard’s smirk didn’t falter, if anything it grew wider. _Ass_.

 

“Well, I don’t know how we’re supposed to think of anything else when you’re giving us all an eyeful right now.”

 

Oliver sidestepped right into Agent Asshole’s line of sight, hand white-knuckled around the hilt of his knife. “She’s not giving _you anything_ , and if you’d like to leave here with all the parts you came in with, I’d suggest you wait outside,” he snapped between his gritted teeth, his low, dangerous tone made Felicity realize that the fine tremors running along his back and arms were of repressed fury—and as much as this asshole might deserve it, okay, he _definitely_ deserved it, she didn’t want Oliver to stab someone over her. Her mind automatically replayed the moment he’d shot the man to save her and she shivered at the phantom-sensation of blood spraying across her face and neck, but she immediately shoved those memories back behind her mental walls.

 

“Right, we get it, Queen, you need some more time _alone_.” She didn’t even need to look up to see the smirk on his face, she could hear it loud and clear in his voice.

 

“Fuck off, Miller,” Oliver snarled, slamming the bathroom door after the retreating extraction team. He braced himself against the frame, a harsh breath escaping him.

 

Felicity bit her lip, watching his back as it heaved with the deep breaths, knuckles white as the cheap frame actually groaned under his grip. “I’m sorry, Felicity,” he muttered, voice still tight with anger, yet gentling now that it was directed at her.

 

She’d retrieved her shirt the moment the door shut and started pulling her arms through the sleeves, waiting to bring it over her head until she at least had her hands all the way through, but paused at his words. “What do you have to be sorry for? You’re not the one being a disgusting, chauvinist pig.”

 

Oliver, his back still turned to give her privacy while she finished with her shirt, gave a dubious grunt, squeezing the doorframe one last time before releasing it. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

 

Right then and there Felicity decided that she _really_ didn’t like the doubt and self-loathing she could hear in his voice. However this wasn’t the time or, with a gaggle of A.R.G.U.S. operatives—and if using the word gaggle didn’t have her suddenly imagining the black-and-Kevlar-clad agents as a bunch of geese—just outside the door, the place to address his self-perception. Frowning, she nodded as she dangled his shirt into his line of sight, prompting him to finally turn to face her—the knife was again out of sight, she still had _no_ idea where he kept it. “Yeah, ‘cause honestly I’d rather be in _our_ rat hole, where I _know_ how well it’s been cleaned and I actually have conditioner and a brush and a change of clothes, rather than _this_ one where I know… Actually I don’t even know where we _are_ so I know nothing about it really. Which is kinda a first for me, I usually know at least _something_ about something.”

 

For once Oliver didn’t duck his head to try to hide the way his lips quirked the tiniest bit in amusement. It wasn’t much but Felicity would take it after everything they’d been through.

 

>>>\------------>

 

They hardly spoke on their way out of the safe house or during the entire ride in the A.R.G.U.S. SUV back to their apartment. However Oliver was surprised to find that it wasn’t awkward between himself and Felicity, the goth shifting almost constantly in her seat and taking in the passing buildings, occasionally asking him about certain signs and streets. Eventually he realized that she was trying to figure out where they were, so he promised to show her on a map once they got home. The smile she gave him in return, he swore it was brighter than the sun—a gift he would _never_ deserve, because he most certainly was, or at least _had been_ , the type of misogynist she’d accused Miller of being, but he was selfish enough to covet every smile and laugh she offered him. He grinned back, clenching his hands in fists to combat the urge to reach out and tap her adorably freckled nose. He hadn’t even known she _had_ a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks under the pale makeup, nor had he known before now that he even had a thing for freckles—if he was honest with himself he’d admit it had little to do with freckles and everything to do with Felicity.

 

Finally the SUV pulled up to the back of the noodle shop beneath their studio apartment; Oliver might’ve _accidentally_ cracked Miller in the head while opening the car door after the agent made yet another lewd comment about Felicity. He shoved the tech they’d been sent to retrieve into Miller’s hands, not sparing him a look or a word—certainly no apologies—while he focused on helping his dark-haired partner out of the vehicle, then closed the door behind her and led her up the steps to their place.

 

When they stepped through the door to their apartment Felicity let out a theatrical sigh of relief. “Home not-so-sweet home.” She tossed him a grin as she scurried over to the coffee maker, obviously in search of her morning fix which she had miraculously managed to survive thus far without—though Oliver had _no_ intention of impeding her further in getting her favorite drink; he had a feeling that was one encounter he wouldn’t make it out alive from, or at least with all his limbs still attached.

 

He settled on the floor before the couch, his back resting against it, arms draped over his bent knees, as he watched Felicity’s hands flying through the motions of making coffee. Once the brew had begun dripping steadily she reached over to the radio she’d cobbled together from scavenged junk during their downtime—at least that’s what it’d looked like to Oliver; when he’d asked her how she’d done it, at first she’d rattled off a lot of technical terms and only paused once she’d noticed his blank look, offering instead, “PFM. Let’s just go with that.”—and switched it on. It was already tuned to the clearest station they could get that played popular music in English, and she was instantly humming and bobbing her head along to a song he’d heard several times since she’d gotten it working.

 

She sang along softly to the lyrics as a new song came on, “ _I dreamed I was missing, you were so scared…_ ”

 

Oliver couldn’t help the small smile that curved his lips at the scene before him, his little hacker bouncing around in her high-tops, singing to herself while pulling out the creamer and two mugs. He hadn’t felt so…peaceful in longer than he could remember, just simply sitting here watching her do something so _very_ ordinary.

 

Then the chorus of the song came, and suddenly his bright goth was hunched over, gripping the edge of the counter with a strangled sob wrenching from her chest.

 

The archer hadn’t even realized that he’d moved until he was already catching Felicity, easing them both to the floor, as she collapsed. This woman who’d always been so strong and brave instantly turned to him, burying her face in his chest and clinging desperately to his shirt as heaving sobs racked her frame.

 

He wrapped her as tightly in his arms as he could without hurting her, rocking them back and forth on the floor, whispering soothingly, “Hey, hey… I’m here, Felicity. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe now.” That damned song’s lyrics still played in the background: _When my time comes/Forget the wrong that I’ve done/Help me leave behind some reason to be missed…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you guys think? Worth the wait? Was it any good? Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> So there it is, my friends! The first chapter of this new monster I’ve created. XD I’m both excited and terrified to see where it goes! :-D I have SO MUCH planned for our couple and the road they take together. ;-) As more familiar faces join the show I'll be adding tags Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think! :-D


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